


when you hear something like a gunshot

by phalangine



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: (i do care), 1960s, Alternate Universe, Anachronistic, Get Together, M/M, Nazis, Spies & Secret Agents, background raven/angel - Freeform, everything is out of order and i don't care, the tmfu crossover i've been crying about writing for a hundred years now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8847817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: Charles is a thief recruited by the CIA, Erik is a lone wolf formerly of the KGB, and Raven is the key to stopping a nuclear attack.





	1. Chapter 1

Charles is in the middle of a job when he hears the sharp, pointed clack of heels on hard flooring, the sound getting louder as the wearer approaches. The strides are too short for an average man- not surprising, but you never know- but perfectly suited to a woman. The steps are quick but not hurried, with the correct two-part step: heel-toe, not a flat, mid-foot strike. The wearer knows how to walk properly in them.

So, not the fumbling young thing at the front desk.

Charles is still working on the lock when the steps come to a stop and a voice rings out, "Still stealing things, Mr. Borromeo- or should I say Xavier?"

He pauses with his head and one foot in the safe. He wasn't expecting anyone to be here, let alone a woman, but he puts the pieces together quickly.

_Trap. Another Nazi? No, not likely. Military? No, too subtle for them. Government? Most likely._

Stepping back out of the safe, Charles takes in his would-be captor. A woman, pretty, on the small side. He could take her in a fight. Provided she doesn't shoot him with the gun she has trained on him. From the grim line of her mouth, Charles is forced to consider that getting shot is a real possibility.

He pastes his most charming smile on his face. "Hello, ma'am," he says cheerfully. "I must admit you have me at a disadvantage. You have a gun and my name, you see, while I have neither on you."

Her expression doesn't waver from its smooth set as she says, "Moira MacTaggert.”

Charles can't recall upsetting any Moiras, so yes, this is professional. She certainly has on a suit cut cheaply in the manner of a government agent. "What can I do for you, Ms MacTaggert?"

"I'd like offer you a job." At Charles' skeptical expression, MacTaggert smiles sharply. "How would you like to strike a bigger blow to Nazis than stealing their paintings?"

"Stealing back," Charles corrects automatically. "I’m simply helping people recover what they lost. And you'll have to excuse me, but I don't see how my skillset will be of any more use than this."

MacTaggert's smile only grows sharper. She lowers her weapon and says almost flippantly, "Take me to lunch, and I'll show you."

Intrigued, Charles motions for her to lead the way. _This_ , he decides as he follows a government agent to lunch, _will be either good fun or absolutely lethal._

**_xx_ **

 

"Sebastian Shaw," MacTaggert begins softly as they settle in at a Greek diner. "Nasty piece of work: devoted Nazi, worked as a 'doctor' at Auschwitz and got away with it, doomsday fanatic. You can guess why we might be concerned about him."

"I can indeed," Charles murmurs as he looks over the menu. "Though I'm not sure how I fit into this..."

MacTaggert nods. "What I'm about to tell you is highly sensitive, highly classified information." She pauses, gives their waitress her order and waits for Charles to do the same. Once the girl leaves, MacTaggert leans in. "Shaw and his cohorts are planning something big," she whispers. "Nuclear big."

Charles' gut twists horribly. He's read about Japan. All that death, in one, two strokes-

No man should have that power. Bad enough America and the Soviets have them. If this Shaw character has a nuclear weapon of his own, they are all in danger.

Swallowing against the terror clawing at him, Charles says again, "I'm not sure what I can do about that, Ms MacTaggert."

"You should call me Moira. If we're going to stop this together, we may as well be friendly." Charles nods, and she continues, "As for your role- we don't know how close Shaw is to enriching the uranium he made off with from the Russians. Your... skills would be useful in ascertaining how imminent a threat he is."

"And sabotaging his operation, I assume?"

"Correct."

The waitress returns, and with her come their meals. Charles gets to work on his gyro with relief. Nazis, nuclear proliferation, somehow he is the one who can help... It's a lot to take in. Too much.

His gyro is safe. Sipping on his water and going through the familiar motions of eating are safe. It occurs to him that there's something wrong with this picture.

"Why are you here?"

Moira raises her brows. "I'm hungry."

"I meant here, with me. Not in an office."

"Ah." She turns pensive for a moment, working through her food almost absently. "I'm very good at my job," she says eventually. "Either they have me in the field, or they don't have me at all. Turns out, with the Soviets knocking on the door, the CIA isn't ready to lose its best."

Charles had figured it would be something like that. "I can't exactly say no, can I?"

"Sure you can. You'd just have to sleep knowing you did nothing to stop a nuclear attack."

"Comforting." She shrugs, and Charles lets out a heavy breath. His food is gone now. "I have a sister-"

"She will be of help, I suspect."

"No, she- You already talked to her, didn't you?"

Moira takes a sip of her water, delaying confirming what Charles already knows. "Your sister is a smart girl. And she's got a strong arm on her."

From the set of her jaw, Moira's mind is made up. Charles can always sideline Raven if he has to. "So," he says cheerfully, waving for the check, "how do we start?"

 

**_xx_ **

 

The bank is a beautiful building, fully intact and clean. It never saw bombs or squads of soldiers. Like so much of Switzerland, it escaped Nazi and Allied wrath alike.

Erik hates it.

He hates its perfect stairs and the well-dressed men who fill it. He hates their shoes and their suits, their casual air of ownership. Their lack of fear.

The banker who meets with him is the epitome of it all. His suit is fine, his desk orderly, his manner smooth. He has never wanted for anything.

He will when Erik is done with him.

"Good afternoon," the man greets him warmly. "Please, take a seat."

Erik does, and as they exchange pleasantries, he places his briefcase on the desk and opens it.

The covetous gleam in the man's eye would have given him away even if the man who led Erik to him had not. It disappears quickly, hidden beneath a façade of disapproval.

"Possession of that gold is illegal," he says. His eyes flicker between them for a moment before settling on the gold once more. "I should call the police."

Erik fights the pounding of his blood that demands action. "You should, but you will not. I'm a busy man. This bank, and you in particular, came highly recommended from a friend."

"You know our terms?"

"I do. But you should know mine." Reaching out, Erik takes one of the bars in his hand, his palm covering the Nazi swastika. "This gold is blood money, stolen from innocents, yet it is what remains of my people. Do you understand?"

The man nods, his face beginning to break into a sweat.

"Don't touch the alarm if you care about your life," Erik warns him. "Now, what I want from you is very simple. There is a man, Klaus Schmidt- you know of him, I see. All you have to do is tell me where he is."

The banker shakes his head. "We're not that kind of bank. No addresses, the names aren't always real..."

Erik tuts, and the banker twitches. _Smart man._ "I would believe you, had my friend not been very clear that Schmidt, like the rest of his kind, did not bother to hide his name or nature. So I will as you again: where is Klaus Schmidt?"

The man shakes his head. He still thinks Erik is a man like him. He sees the good suit and unscuffed shoes and thinks he is speaking to a gentleman. Erik is no gentleman.

Schmidt's government made certain of that.

Funny, that the master race did not consider that when you take away a man's humanity and treat him as an animal, the result is not a weaker creature but a stronger one. Erik is not bound by man's law. There has a deeper law that demands satisfaction, and Erik will satisfy it.

Rising to his feet, he clenches his fists against the rage pumping through him. His blood howls in his ears. His vision narrows to the wide blue eyes watching him with fear. It was their own prophecy that turned Erik against them.

It is a matter of seconds for Erik to make his way around the desk and grab the banker's face with one hand. He pushes his thumb into the corner of the man's cheek, forcing his jaw to open. Seizing his head with his other hand, Erik tilts it back so he can look inside.

"Silver fillings," he observes. "Not gold?"

The man trembles under Erik's hands.

"In my pocket is a pair of pliers. You can either tell me where Schmidt is, or I can make your dentist a very rich man. It's your decision."

"Areheeah," comes the response. "'E's i' Areheeah!"

"I thought you would see the wiser path." Grinning sharply, Erik lets go and returns to his case. "I would like to kill you," he says as he prepares to leave, "but I have more urgent business. Do not give me a reason to return."

Message delivered and information gotten, Erik takes the gold and exits as swiftly as he entered.

He knows the name of a bar in Argentina where Nazis have been known to go. That will be as good a place to start as any.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik finds the bar without any issues. He gets his information on Schmidt without any either. At least, not of the sort that matters. If the locals have any issues with finding Nazi bodies in need of disposal, Erik is long gone by the time they realize out anything needs to be done.

Using the photograph and the Nazi’s information, he heads to Miami, takes a room in a hotel near the marina, and settles in to wait. According to the note in the stolen log book, Schmidt will be coming for his ship tonight. He’s going to have guests with him, or so he claimed. Erik doesn’t doubt Schmidt will have company, though he doubts the sort of party that involves Klaus Schmidt will be the sort the marina owner wants to have in his waters. The wad of cash that secured the man a quiet night without company is thinner than the usual bribes- Schmidt’s dirty money is running dry. He always had too much of a penchant for buying finer things for his own good.

Happily, Erik's good is no longer tied to Schmidt's.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"Shaw is in Florida," Moira reports. Charles is fresh off the plane from England and feeling the time difference, but his new handler shows him no sympathy as she takes out a map and points to a dot circled in red. "Miami, to be exact. He's going to be taking his yacht out tonight. I have a plan of the marina where he keeps it docked for you to study in preparation for first mission: before Schmidt gets there tonight, you are to break into his ship, find any evidence of his plans- and any progress he's made- and get out."

Charles nods, his mind already working through the standard locks on ships. "Sounds doable."

Moira throws him a meaningful look. "There will be no backup, Charles. If you get caught, that's it."

"I understand that."

"Good. I'll let you prepare, then."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Night still falls quickly in early spring, even in Florida. Erik takes advantage of the early darkness and sprints through the few empty streets between his hotel and the marina.

It won't be long before he confronts the man responsible for everything that keeps Erik awake at night, burning his guilt deeper into mind. It is as inescapable as the tattoo, as shameful as if it, too, were indelibly marked into his skin.

Erik has made his peace with his failings, as much as any man can. What he refuses to make peace with, what he will never allow to go unchallenged, is the blood Schmidt spilled.

For that, Schmidt must pay, and his day of reckoning has finally come.

The promise of finally vindicating his mother tastes like metal in his mouth. It makes Erik's hands tremble as he prepares to cut through the fence surrounding the marina.

He blames the roar of fury pounding in his blood for the fact that he doesn't hear the man coming. Only a barely hushed, "Fuck me, ow!" and a rustling in the bushes beside him forewarns Erik of the man who comes stumbling into view only seconds later. One of the man’s feet lands squarely where Erik's left hand had been a moment before, and only Erik's quick thinking saves the man from careening into the fence and giving Erik away.

"What?" the man asks loudly. "Who are you?" He squints at Erik in the low light. "Tell me you aren't another babysitter. Moira said I wasn’t going to have backup."

English is not Erik's best language, but he can get by. "I do not know Moira," he says, purposefully keeping his voice low. "You leave now, yes?"

The man only squints harder. "Do I know you?"

 _Schmidt is on his way._ "No. Goodbye now."

The man, rather than leave, gives Erik a smile. "You're breaking in, aren't you? Don't get nervous! I'm breaking in, too."

"Do it somewhere else," Erik complains. "I am busy."

Instead, the man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handheld pair of wire cutters. "Hardened by a CO2 laser," he explains gamely.

Erik rolls his eyes and pulls out his own device, which cuts through the metal far faster. His unwelcome guest makes a sound of surprise. "CO2 laser," Erik explains helpfully. He hesitates a moment after finishing but decides it can't hurt to say, "Come along," and pull the metal back to let the man through after him. They will part soon anyway.

His unwelcome shadow happily abandons his clipping and gracefully slips through the hole. "Thank you for that."

"Is no trouble. Now we say goodbye," Erik tells him firmly.

The man nods, and they take off- in the same direction.

Erik notices immediately and quickly speeds up his steps, yet his shadow persists. When Erik turns off the main way to the dock with Schmidt's ship, his shadow does, too.

That is too much.

Whipping around, Erik grabs the man and puts his arm around his neck, keeping a steady squeeze tight enough to subdue but not so tight the man won’t be able to speak.

"Who are you," Erik breathes, "and what do you want with Klaus Schmidt?"

"Don't know him."

Erik pulls his arm tighter.

"I'm after Sebastian Shaw," the man squeaks. "I don't know any Klaus Schmidts!"

"Same man," Erik growls. "Shaw is alias."

"Oh." Surprise- convincing, but not so much that Erik releases him.

"What do you want?"

"Plans for a nuclear weapon," the man says readily. "He wants to blow us all up, and I need to know how soon he can do that so I can try to stop him."

His gut tells Erik that this is the truth, so he reluctantly releases his shadow.

"What is your name?" he asks curiously. He thought he knew all the active spies, but this one’s face is unknown to him.

"Charles," the man says after a moment. "Charles Xavier." He holds out his hand, and though the action bewilders him- he was moments away from breaking this Xavier man’s neck- Erik shakes it. "Who are you, then?"

For an insane moment, Erik almost says the truth. Then he remembers himself. "Maksimilian Essen," he lies.

Xavier accepts the name without argument.

"You do not need to worry about Schmidt's weapon," Erik assures him. "I am going to kill him, and when I do, you will have nothing to worry about."

"That sounds reasonable,” Xavier says. “Although, if I could come along anyway, have a peek around, it would make my superiors more at ease, if you don't mind."

Erik does mind, but he has bigger issues.

"You will be gone before Schmidt arrives," he warns, pointing at Xavier to reinforce the point.

Xavier nods, and together, they board the ship.

Erik's plans to hide in the cabin get derailed by the presence of a lock. He has his gear with him, but he was always better at just shooting them open than fiddling with them.

Before he can do more than sigh, Xavier pipes up, "Let me. I do have to get in, after all."

It hardly takes any time at all for him to get it open. He steps aside with a flourish. "Nothing is unobtainable for a good thief, my friend."

Erik hates thieves. Xavier doesn't remind him of the men he knew in the camps, but Erik is not so easily taken in. Still, this did speed up his timetable, and he can hardly demand that Xavier relock the door. With no alternative, Erik takes the help despite his misgivings and ducks into the cabin.

Xavier moves past him and immediately begins to rustle through the papers spread out carelessly on the table. With nothing better to do, Erik watches him.

He keeps watching him until he hears footsteps and a woman's laugh. A moment later, Xavier curses.

"They're early," Erik observes, checking his watch.

Xavier turns to him, eyes wide with panic. "How the hell am I going to get out?"

Erik regards the man for a long moment. They are strangers; he owes Xavier nothing. Unlocking the door was merely payback for Erik helping him through the fence. Yet something tells him he should not throw this man to the wolves.

"I will get you out," he says at last.

"But-"

"Take my offer. You are terrible spy, and, I think, not a very good fighter. So I will help you."

"You don't have to do that..."

Erik bites his tongue against the rush of angry words fighting to burst out. "Tonight, I fight Schmidt one way or another. This way, I help get you out. Another way, I do not. Your choice."

Xavier doesn't like that reasoning, so Erik takes the choice away. He grabs the man with one hand, marches to the door, throws it open with his free hand, and, before any of the people on deck can say anything, throws Xavier overboard.

Ignoring the splashes that follow, Erik turns to Shaw and feels the fury pound in him once more.

 _“And if he smite him with an instrument of iron, so that he die,”_ he hears his father say, voice grim, _“he is a murderer: the murderer shall surely be put to death.”_

 

**_xx_ **

 

Charles hits the water hard. The impact knocks the breath right out of him, and for a horrible second as he sinks into the depths, he thinks he may have broken his back. Then sensation comes roaring back, along with the need to _breathe_. He struggles against the water, his soaked clothing dragging him down, before finally, finally, breaking the surface with a gasp.

He tries to make his way toward the dock as quietly as he can, though from the ruckus above, he would guess Shaw and his people are too busy with Essen to be interested in thieves in the water.

By the time he reaches the dock, Charles is sore and tired and in the mood for a warm shower, a twelve hour sleep, and a permanent vacation from this spying business. He hauls himself up through sheer force of fear- what he found in the ship indicated that the uranium is close to being enriched, the missiles Shaw is planning to launch not far behind.

Two gun shots ring out, and despite himself, Charles looks back at the boat just in time to see something flicker in the dark. A man's shout breaks the quiet, and Charles' heart stutters as he realizes that was Essen's voice.

Charles' mission is of absolute importance. He can't risk thousands of lives for one man. He can't.

He reminds himself of that as he makes a dash for the truck waiting nearby and hops in. There is no question in his mind: Essen got him out, and Charles cannot waste that gift. He starts the engine without caring if the targets hear. He's getting out of here.

And yet...

"Fuck me," he whispers angrily to himself as he whips the damn vehicle around, hits the accelerator, and damns himself for a fool.

The truck hits the water with an almighty splash. Within moments, the Atlantic is rushing in.

_Deep breath, Charles._

Getting out takes some thought, but Charles has used his wits to get out of far more precarious situations. The real problem, he quickly realizes, is finding Essen. Swimming around in the dark hoping he will just crash into the man is a terrible plan, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. He can't call for the man without attracting more attention to himself, and even if he could, he has no idea of Essen would hear.

In a stroke of luck, Charles notices a flash of human colored something clinging to the back of the now-moving yacht. Charles swims over quickly and grabs the same rope Essen did. The man is barely conscious, but somehow his fist is still clenched too tightly for Charles to release.

Giving him a shake, Charles hisses, "Essen! Essen, wake up!"

The man stirs, groaning when Charles shakes him again. He mutters something in a language Charles doesn't understand and, eyes still shut tight, weakly struggles away.

"Essen, you need to wake up."

 _"Ver?"_ he mumbles.

"Essen, it's Xavier. I need you to let go. Can you do that?"

For a moment, Essen opens his eyes and blinks stupidly at him. Then, with a low noise of pain, he lets go.

Charles gets them to shore, and he's never been happier for the lifeguard lessons his mother insisted he take than he is when Essen decides he wants to help and nearly drags them both under with his wild thrashing.

They are both still spluttering and coughing from it when they reach the dock. Charles goes up first, one hand still gripping Essen, then hauls the other man up after him.

They lie there pressed shoulder to shoulder for a long time, coughing and groaning.

Eventually, Essen asks, voice rough, "Why did you do that?" Charles shrugs, which does nothing to settle his new acquaintance. "You do not know me,” Essen presses. “What do you want?"

 _Ah._ "Nothing. I want nothing from you."

"You are lying."

Charles shakes his head, the start of a crazy plan taking root. "I'm not. But I may have a proposition for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the verse erik remembers is bamidbar (numbers) [35:16](http://www.scripture4all.org/OnlineInterlinear/OTpdf/num35.pdf)


	3. Chapter 3

Moira meets Charles at his hotel. She takes one look at the two men, her eyes lingering on Essen, before she grabs Charles and drags him out of the main room and into the bedroom. There, she rounds on him. "Absolutely not."

"You haven't heard my proposition yet."

She shakes her head, clearly not in the mood to be charmed. "Do you have any idea who he is?"

"Maksimilian Essen, according to him. I suspect that's a lie, though."

"Well spotted. Tell me this: did you spot why I know him?"

Charles blinks, taken aback by Moira’s sudden fury. "He's a Soviet spy, I would assume."

"Very good. Unfortunately, that man is not just any Soviet spy," Moira says sharply. "He is _the_ Soviet spy- or was, before he disappeared two years ago, leaving a trail of human carnage you would not believe."

Charles frowns. From Moira's grave expression, she isn't being flippant about Essen's bloody resignation. That would have been news even his type of underground contacts ought to have caught. "I think I would have heard about that."

"The KGB is good at hiding their messes,” she tells him grimly, “especially when their best operative just defected in the messiest way possible."

"You think he's too dangerous," Charles surmises.

"I think he belongs in a prison," Moira corrects. "I mean it, Charles. Maksimilian Essen is no stray puppy for you to adopt. He's a trained killer, and he won't hesitate to betray you if it suits him." Blowing out a breath, she adds, "He's probably gone by now anyway."

Oddly, Charles' chest twinges. He keeps quiet about that, though, and simply suggests they look and see. It makes Moira roll her eyes, but she opens the door and peeks in nonetheless.

Stepping through, she waves Charles after her. "See?"

Essen is indeed gone. The towel Charles wrapped him in when they first got to the room is visible through the open bathroom door, the dark navy stark against the pale porcelain where Essen left it lying neatly along the rim of the bathtub.

Coughing against a sudden tightness in his chest- he must have inhaled more water than he thought- Charles allows Moira the point.

He shows her out not long after, but not before he reveals to her that Shaw was not alone and that he is closer to making a viable weapon than the CIA had thought. The news makes Moira’s fists clench. She doesn’t elaborate on the nightmare she must be getting from her superiors, though, only tells Charles to stay put- an order Charles is glad to follow.

The idea of going to bed is appealing, but the thought of being alone is... not. That's easily resolved, though. The hotel has a bar, and Charles saw a number of pretty women sitting there when he came in. Hopefully, if he gets changed quickly enough, he won't have missed them all.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik’s hotel is smaller and less opulent than Xavier’s, but it still makes Erik's teeth clench as he checks in. Charging so much for a place to sleep all because the wallpaper is pretty- how many homeless people did Erik pass on his way here? There is plenty of room here. It would cost little to invite them in, but will anyone? No. American capitalists would rather sell their souls and look pretty than do the hard thing and shoulder some portion of someone else's burden.

Erik has had enough of pretty, soulless things.

His room, it turns out, overlooks the hotel where Xavier and his handler are staying. Erik can't see through Xavier's window- he wasn’t there long enough to pick out which room he was in- but he looks anyway.

Surrounded as he is by Western decadence, Erik can’t help but be intrigued by the anomaly that is Charles Xavier. Erik is still learning accents for English, but he is certain from the roundness of the vowels and the rumble in his chest that Xavier did not grow up poor. His suit he was wearing when Erik left was good quality and tailored, and Erik is certain the one Xavier had on when Erik threw him into the water was of equal expense.

Yet he only fussed over Erik, never once mentioning the suit as he tugged Erik, who was too tired and wounded to resist, back to his hotel. All Xavier’s questions were about Erik's well-being.

Erik's chest aches at the memory. The Nazis and the KGB had no use for coddling. He survived them both, and he thought himself tempered steel from the experience. Then along comes this man, and suddenly Erik is a boy again, perking up in hopes of some sort of kindness.

Reaching for his throat, Erik checks once more for his necklace. He was reckless to face Schmidt and the man's guards while wearing it, but bringing it had felt necessary. His family should be there when Erik kills the man who murdered them.

Schmidt escaped this time, but only because Erik lost the element of surprise. If he hadn't, he could have taken care of the guards and killed Schmidt and his woman. Instead, the guards shot him, and the woman threw him over the side to drown.

He will have to be careful while the wound heals, but, he thinks as he looks toward Charles' window, there are many things that can be done quietly.

 

**_xx_ **

 

The next morning, What's Her Name the pretty stewardess leaves, and Charles is forced to think about what he signed himself up for. Patriotism and good intentions only take a man so far, and nuclear missiles are one of those things reasonable people tend to avoid. He got into the thieving business because it was relatively low risk. Sneaking a look at some documents is one thing. That's easier than his day job. Being known to Russia's foremost KGB spy is another.

Why the hell did he give Essen his real name? A cover might not be airtight, but it could at least give him a head start.

He's still berating himself for the misstep when he makes his way down to the main area for breakfast. The room smells pleasantly of cooking meat, and Charles' stomach growls at the scent. Where there’s meat there’s coffee, and Charles could use a bucket of the stuff.

Grabbing a few strips of bacon and slices of toast, he finds his way to an empty, out of the way table where he sets his haul down. He happily plops down on the hard chair with a grunt before tucking in gratefully.

Everything is delicious. The very peak of culinary excellence. Charles is munching happily on his bacon when the stewardess from earlier catches his eye from across the room. She gives him a saucy wink, which he returns, but the exchange ends there. She turns to the girl beside her- the one glaring daggers at Charles- and the two set off together. Which is fine. Charles isn't looking for romance, and from the way she went at him last night, his companion just had to work out some of her own stress.

When he turns back to his food, his plate is several inches closer and Russia's finest is looking at him over a newspaper.

Charles' stomach drops. "Essen? What are you doing here?"

"Relax, Xavier," comes the reply in that rolling mess of an accent. The newspaper comes down a moment later to reveal the man's face, set in what Charles suspects is a favored bland expression. "I am not here to kill you."

"Forgive me if I don't immediately believe that."

Essen huffs, his mouth quirking in amusement. "I came to talk to you."

"I don't know where Shaw- Schmidt- Whatever his name is, I don't know where he is."

"But you could. That would make your CIA friends happy."

"Are you offering to help me?"

"To help myself, yes." Essen shrugs, but his expression pinches as if he were in pain. "I told you: I want Schmidt dead. Without KGB, I am blind. But I still know Schmidt. I know his habits. You saw his papers on the ship and have ties with CIA. The Agency is adequate, especially within American borders."

 _Not one for buttering up his potential allies, this one._ The thought makes Charles smile. Something about Essen's abruptness is compelling, almost endearing. "I do, though I'd feel better knowing why you want him dead." Essen tenses up, and Charles hastens to add, "The man is a Nazi, so I'm not about to protect him. I just wondered why you're so invested in killing him yourself."

His tentative ally lets out a slow, deliberate breath. Rather than speak his reason, however, he simply rolls up one of the sleeves on his black turtleneck.

Charles follows the stretch of skin with his eyes and feels his stomach drop. "Oh."

Essen's brows climb toward his hairline. "'Oh'?" he echoes.

Charles blinks, still reeling from the sight of one of the infamous tattoos- which Essen has now covered up once more. Charles swallows hard, tries to come up with something insightful, and fails. "I suppose," he says shakily, "that would explain it. Did you know him?"

The twitch in Essen's jaw gives the answer away. "Not here," he says softly, looking ill. "We can talk, but not here."

"My room then," Charles volunteers quickly, not wanting to waste whatever is compelling his companion to speak to him.

Essen nods quickly, and with a final bite of bacon taken on the way, Charles sets them off for his room.

 

**_xx_ **

 

He hadn't intended to tell Xavier the truth. Certainly not so much of it. But Erik did tell him, and he did pull up his sleeve. The ink is still crisp enough to read the numbers despite Erik’s hours tracing the numbers, looking to make them smudge, for their borders to begin to grow fuzzy.

The smell of the crematoriums is still thick in his nose. He should have waited in the American's room; it was arrogance to think he could handle an American breakfast and all its cooked meats.

His hands tremble as they climb the stairs, so he makes them into fists. The pain from his shoulder where the bullets ripped through is ready and waiting to bring him back to the present- Erik lets it wash over him and burn away the chill of his memories.

On the way down the hall, he notices Xavier throwing him looks over his shoulder. Erik quickly identifies the cause. Xavier is a thief, not a spy. He is good at sneaking around; he does not have experience in reading men’s intentions.

Erik, who could kill him with one blow, must frighten him a great deal.

The idea holds none of its usual reassurance.

Xavier fumbles the key to the lock, and when Erik offers to help, he only turns white and starts babbling about modern locks and how these ones are no harder to pick than a cheap motel's. He continues to speak rapidly in English after he gets the door open and gestures for Erik to follow him in.

Amused by the nervous lecture, Erik lets the words wash over him without trying to catch their meaning as he looks around the room. He remembers the sofa from last night. The memory of how much it hurt when he had to haul himself out of its plush depths is fresh in his mind, and he quickly sets his sights on the straight-backed chair beside it. Without waiting for Xavier to direct him to sit down, Erik sits himself down on it.

"KGB made me a promise," he announces, cutting Xavier off before he can babble about anything new. "They said if I became KGB, I could look for Nazis, so long as I did not let my work for them suffer. For a while, this was true. Then one day, my handler told me KGB was tired of Nazi hunting. I was to stop looking for them and only spy on Americans. I told him no. That was not our deal. So they sent men to kill me." He reaches up, fingers tangling in the fine metal chain at his throat. "Some I knew. But if I did not kill them, they were going to kill me. They are dead now, and I am not."

Erik subtly adjusts himself as he prepares to wait, but Xavier is quicker than he thought.

"Is this-" Xavier stops himself, blinks owlishly for a long moment. "Is this your way of saying you aren't going to kill me?"

 

**_xx_ **

 

"Your CIA friend must have told you about my past." Essen tips his head to the side, and his necklace, now hanging outside his shirt, shifts with the motion. "I will not kill you unless you betray me."

Charles swallows, then swallows again. "I see."

Lips pulling back into a wide, not quite friendly smile to reveal a row of gleaming teeth, Essen nods, seemingly content with his reassurance.

If Charles had imagined the pride of the KGB, Maksimilian Essen is not what he would have imagined. A hardier man, for one- Essen has the lithe frame of an athlete, not a hardened murderer. A man who would not have turned down last night's offer of a shot of vodka to celebrate their survival. He would have been older, too. Less handsome. How did a man this striking move about undetected?

Charles never would have picked a survivor of the camps. Which begs the question: what was a Russian boy doing in Nazi Germany?

"Essen?"

"Yes?"

"You aren't Russian, are you?"

Charles had expected a vehement denial. Instead, he gets an almost indulgent smile.

"I was not born in Russia, no."

"Then where?"

"Germany." Jaw working, Essen readjusts his position on the chair. "We moved to Poland when I was little boy. My parents thought maybe we would be safer there, but there is nowhere safe. Not for us."

Pieces start to click together in Charles' mind. To be certain, he prompts, "And us is..."

"Jews, Xavier." A new smile, this one grim and unwelcoming, stretches Essen's lips. "You don't have any problems working with Jewish man, do you?" Charles shakes his head quickly, and though his gaze remains sharp, Essen relaxes minutely. "Good," he says, tone clipped.

The last piece clicks into place. "So you defected because you're Jewish?"

"I defected because I did not believe in what I was doing or the men asking me to do it."

That's a fair reason, Charles figures. He has backed out of a few jobs himself when he got the feeling he was being played.

"I guess that leaves us with Shaw," he says thoughtfully. "I'd like to go through the CIA's file before we start working with what was on the boat. You okay with that?"

"I am." Essen rolls his eyes. "Go. Call your friend."

"Last time I left you to talk to Moira, you sneaked out."

Essen's only reply is a tiny, one-shoulder shrug.

Charles sighs. "Fine. I'll just be by the door."

He hears Essen grunt in what might be affirmation and decides not to think too hard about it, or else he might remember the man is a highly skilled assassin who only cares about Charles for the information he can get.

The call with Moira goes almost exactly as if he had plotted it out himself: she scolds him, she demands to speak to Essen, Essen refuses to speak to her, Charles gets yelled at, Moira promises to bring the file, Charles gets hung up on.

He feels the weight of the spy's attention on him the whole time, carefully deconstructing Charles into pieces he can use.

Use for what, Charles would rather not guess.

Rather than bear the scrutiny in silence, Charles returns to the sofa, flops down, and asks, "So, have any plans for the day?"

"I thought I might sleep."

"Really? I thought spies were more exciting than that."

"Would you prefer to get shot? I could arrange it."

It takes Charles a heart-stopping second to realize Essen is joking.

Add to the list of things he hadn't expected from a top Soviet spy: a sense of humor. It's a bit dark, Essen’s poker face flawless, but Charles can work with that.

"Until Moira comes, we're stuck here," he says, "and that could be hours from now."

"Then sleeping is best idea after all."

"Where? In that chair you refuse to leave?"

Essen narrows his eyes. "When did you figure it out?"

"On the way up." Charles shakes his head. "I knew for certain something was off when you refused to speak to Moira. You strike me as the sort of man who would want to specify exactly what he wants- unless in order to do so, you would reveal you're injured."

For some reason, that makes Essen laugh, a reaction that promptly sours into a grimace. "You are clever," he says after a moment. "For an American."

"Thank you so much," Charles replies tartly.

It takes significant verbal prodding, but eventually Essen admits to having broken ribs. Taking advantage of the admission, Charles presses further, asking what doctor diagnosed him and if he's taking anything. Essen resists once more but breaks in the end.

"Is a clean wound," he insists. "I do not need doctor to tell me this."

“But if it doesn’t get treated, it could get infected. Or if the bullet broke-"

“No doctors!” Essen leverages himself up to his feet.

The conversation is rapidly getting away from him. Charles tries making his tone less sharp, almost pleading. "Essen, you need to be seen by a professional. I won't have you walking around possibly killing yourself."

"I said no."

Charles doesn't know what tells him, whether it's intuition or a flash of precognition, but he sees Essen moving for the door before the man actually does.

"Essen, stop," he warns, putting himself between the spy and escape. "You'll hurt yourself. Why are you getting so worked up? It's just a doctor..."

The first blow is a surprise. It isn't a punch- Charles knows those well enough- so much as a shove. He doesn't mean to fight Essen; he can't possibly win against a bigger, better trained opponent. But his body knows fights never stop at one hit, and he isn't a child anymore, even if, as he swings a fist at Essen, he feels like one. Essen blocks him easily, but that only makes Charles fight him harder.

They hit the floor at one point, wrestling and struggling to be the one on top, and it’s around then that Essen growls something in Russian and everything goes black.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik regrets using the kiss on Xavier. Not because it wasn't earned- it was- but because if the handler arrives and finds her friend unconscious on the floor, Erik will be in trouble. Trouble makes getting documents harder. He doubts she will hand him the file without Xavier, and between Schmidt's men and the beating Xavier summoned the strength to give him, Erik isn't in a position to take it from her without making a mess.

He needs what Xavier found out on the ship as well.

When he wakes up, the man will have a nasty headache, and headaches don't put men in the mood to share.

"Americans," he grumbles, recalling how hard Xavier hit and feeling proud for the man even as he curses him for hitting Erik's tender shoulder. "Always such a pain in the ass."

 

**_xx_ **

 

When Charles wakes up, he's lying in bed on his back. "What the hell?"

He tries to get up, but a firm hand on his chest holds him down. "Not yet, or you will make headache worse."

"What headache?" Charles asks. "And what the hell did you do to me?"

"The kiss," Essen explains. "Is KGB technique. I moved you, so you woke up faster, but you shouldn't get up yet."

"I can't believe you knocked me out like that."

"I can."

A laugh jerks out of Charles, startling them both. "Listen, Essen," Charles says tiredly. "About earlier..."

"You did not know, but you should have guessed," Essen finishes. He looks suddenly far older. "Schmidt called himself doctor," Essen volunteers out of nowhere. "There are evil men in this world, Xavier. Some are disguised as healers. I do not need help to identify bullet wound."

Charles can't think of anything to say to that, and Essen is apparently out of words- or so he seems, until, as Charles feels himself begin to doze off, his head pounding lightly with his pulse, Essen breaks the quiet by saying, "My name is Erik."

"Huh?"

"Maksimilian Essen is the name Russians gave me. Was close to the name my parents were calling me." The necklace flashes brightly as he plays with the pendant. "My mother called me Erik."

"Erik, then," Charles declares. This is important; he can feel it. He just doesn't have the strength to do anything with that knowledge beyond holding it for later.

 

**_xx_ **

 

When Moira arrives, she isn't happy to see either of them. "You," she says pointing at Erik, "so help me if you double cross us." Rounding on Charles, she says, "And so help _you_ , Xavier, if you let it happen."

Then she hands Charles the folder, turns on her heel, and stalks out.

Erik is back in the chair he was sitting in earlier, which he insists is the easiest on his ribs.

"Ready to get to work?" Charles asks as he rearranges the table and pulls up the spare chair.

Erik, already equipped with pen and paper, nods, and Charles opens the file.

 

**_xx_ **

 

They find him six mind-numbing days later.

"Got him!" Charles shouts, throwing the bathroom door open and waving a handful of papers.

Erik, who apparently just finished wrapping the towel around his waist, snaps around and makes a grab for the papers- which Charles neatly dodges by putting them behind his back.

"No touching with wet hands," he scolds. His eyes hurt from staring at the many black and white pages. Erik, on the other hand, seems more alive than Charles has ever seen him. That's good enough for Charles. "Why do the bad guys never go anywhere nice? Like Ibiza. Ibiza's warm this time of year. Why couldn't Shaw be there?"

Erik narrows his eyes and asks, “Where is he?”

Charles groans. “Russia. And now that I’ve found that out, I would like to go to bed."

Shrugging his good shoulder, Erik flaps a hand at him. "So go."

"And leave the CIA's classified file in the hands of a former Soviet spy? I'm not that tired."

"I could have taken these and left any time," Erik points out.

Charles snorts. "Sure you could have. But then you would have had to spend your time working instead of napping." It’s a half-truth, if that. Charles caught Erik napping once, after staying up three nights straight, but Erik was so annoyed at Charles for catching him at it, that Charles has to take every opportunity to remind him of it. Erik will probably kill him for it eventually. What a way to go, though.

Erik gives him a flat look, which would be more terrifying if his hair weren’t plastered to his forehead and his underwear on the floor.  "Then you will help me with last of my papers. Cuban is different from Castilian, and these are locals’ statements."

"Sorry. I took Latin in school."

"Then you are useless to me. You can go to bed."

"You're a real charmer, you know that?" Charles folds his arms across his chest. "You've got a real magnetic personality."

"Because I repel you?" Erik asks lightly. He's putting on a good show of checking his towel, but Charles can tell he's faking.

"I'd like to stick your face to a television and see what happens, more like."

Erik rubs his forehead. "Go to sleep, Xavier."

"Charles."

"Go to sleep, _Charles_."

With no reason not to- he can't stop Erik if the man wants to leave, not even with a shredded shoulder- Charles trundles off to the bedroom.

 

**_xx_ **

 

The next morning brings with it a fight.

"We are not infiltrating a Russian base on our own! I don't care how certain you are."

Erik draws himself up, ignoring the pain in his ribs. "I am not sitting around useless while Shaw walks free. We have his location now. We need to act."

"But that's all we have," Charles protests. "He still has a uranium bomb on its way to being enriched, which we can't find. I don't want a nuclear missile running around where just anyone can have it!"

Erik growls. "If we catch Schmidt-"

"What, Erik? If we catch him alive, what will happen? Will you torture him? He's a psychopath! He'll just lie and use his extra time to get in your head and hurt you more."

Nostrils flaring, Erik draws a long, deep breath that makes his shoulder ache sharply. "Then what do you propose we do?"

"We spy on him."

"You think no one has tried that before?"

Charles shifts his weight from one leg to the one closer to Erik. Preparing to fight or flee? "I think anyone who did lacked the in I have."

"And what 'in' is that?"

"My stepfather is the scientist enriching his uranium."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik's eyes fly open, just for a moment, before they narrow suspiciously. "Your stepfather is a Nazi? How do you know he is the scientist?"

"I doubt he’s a real Nazi. Kurt lacks that level of conviction." Charles keeps a sharp eye on Erik as he continues, "My mother's husband is a greedy man, Erik. He would do anything if paid enough, and his favorite subject of study is nuclear physics."

“You know he is involved, how?”

“While you were sleeping-” Erik’s mouth twitches, and Charles coughs. “It’s true! Before I realized you were asleep, I had my sister check our stepfather’s finances. He’s been making quite a lot of mysterious cash deposits of late.”

"And you think he is capable of building nuclear bomb," Erik says slowly. "What are you planning to do with this in?"

"There's a club in Havana he and my stepbrother enjoy, as does Shaw's wife. I suggest we go there, see what we can dig up from her and, if my guess is right, the Markos."

"Continue."

"We will need my sister, unfortunately,” Charles says unhappily. “Cain's always been less guarded with her. She's our best bet to get him to reveal where Shaw is keeping the bomb- or get us to Kurt. Either way, we get the bomb, and we get Shaw."

Erik tilts his head, obviously less than pleased. "This will take time."

"Dropping a bomb on a city and killing thousands of people will not."

Reluctantly accepting this, Erik clenches his fists. "We will do it your way, but I warn you- if I get the chance to kill Shaw, I will not hesitate."

"Unfortunate but understandable.” Charles pats Erik’s good shoulder. “I won't stop you."

Erik rolls his eyes. "As if you could."


	4. Chapter 4

The flight from Miami to Westchester is uneventful. That doesn't stop Charles from worrying the entire time. Despite the ease with which he's found himself working with Erik, the man remains a relative unknown, and what Charles does know isn't encouraging. Erik's temper is short, and every time he reigns it in, it coalesces into a progressively darker mood Charles instinctively doesn't like. The delay in Erik's plans to chase down Shaw hasn't helped matters any. Charles can almost see him finding ways around their tenuous alliance and running off on his own.

Despite Charles’ concerns, Erik does manage to be polite to the stewardesses and keeps his annoyance with their fellow fliers to eye rolling.

A familiar face is waiting for them when they land in New York, and all thoughts of foul tempered foreigners disappear as Charles takes in the sight of the driver waiting for them. "Alex, my God, look at you!” he calls. He can feel himself grinning stupidly but can’t help himself. Gesturing at the taxi, he asks, “When did this happen?"

The boy shifts his weight back and forth, clearly embarrassed, before he admits, "Darwin helped me get it."

"Of course he did." Charles remembers Darwin well. He had had his doubts about the pair, but apparently the two have managed to stay close. "I want you to meet a friend of mine." He motions Erik over. "This is Maksimilian Essen. Essen, this is Alex Summers. I was Alex's, ah, tutor for a time."

Erik takes Alex's hand with an expression that suggests he's expecting something unpleasant to happen. It doesn't, and he and Alex shake and let go without any of the posturing Charles used to see in the young man.

"He made getting in trouble sound so boring I stopped doing it," Alex quips as Erik steps back. “And he was better at stealing stuff than I was anyway.”

That gets Erik's attention.

"And that is enough nostalgia, thank you," Charles says before things can get out of hand. "I have a sister to visit."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik scarcely waits for the taxi to be out of earshot before saying, "You were going to make him your apprentice."

"Let's not drag up the past," Charles replies stiffly.

"But you were, were you not?"

"And if I was?"

Erik shrugs, though a small smile lingers in the corner of his lips. "Nothing."

"Good."

 

**_xx_ **

 

If Charles had had any fears of Raven turning them down, she puts them to rest quickly.

"I'm doing it," she says the moment he finishes his pitch. "I want to see Kurt go down as much as anyone. Anything that does that, I'm on board."

"Wonderful," Erik drawls. "Get your things. We leave on the next flight."

Raven doesn't waste time protesting before hopping to her feet and running off.

Erik watches her go with an odd expression. "Your sister is not what I expected."

Charles sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I found her when she was little. She wasn't the playmate I thought I was getting, though. And before you ask- no, she isn't a thief."

"Too impatient?"

"Exactly."

Nodding his understanding, Erik adjusts himself minutely in the chair, reminding Charles once again that Erik isn't just chasing Shaw because he's been told to, or even because it's right.

"We'll get him, my friend,” he promises. The words surprise him- he isn’t stupid enough to think Essen is his friend- but they feel right.

Erik doesn't reply, but he does relax deeper against the cushions.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Havana is beautiful in the spring, but the weather is lost on Charles as he, Erik, and Raven make their way discretely to the hotel. Despite the pressure of what they have to accomplish, other fears plague him far worse. He's sending his sister to meet their stepbrother, a man so morally corrupt even the Army couldn't find a use for him, and the only defense Charles is sending with Raven is an unstable spy he barely knows. Charles himself is about to embark on his greatest heist yet: stealing the attention of a wealthy Nazi, courting her, and making off with her husband's nuclear weapon plans.

 _At least Raven is enjoying herself,_ he thinks tiredly as he traipses up the stairs to his room.

Raven and Erik "met" on the flight from New York when they were seated together, and they spent the entire flight with their heads together. Charles didn't like it then, and, as he watches them walk almost hand in hand, he doesn't like it now.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"I'm supposed to be bugging you," Charles says, handing Erik the handful of devices Moira gave him back in Miami. “Just in case”, she said.

Erik looks from the bugs to Charles' face, back to the bugs, and back to Charles' face. A sound suspiciously close to a snort breaks the silence.

Bristling at the implication that he isn’t good enough to hide them, Charles hisses, "Stealing is easier than hiding, I’ll have you know. But I could have planted them if I’d wanted to. This was a courtesy.”

His words only serve to make Erik roll his eyes. "You may as well come in. Your sister already did."

Sure enough, when he peeks over Erik's shoulder, he sees Raven lying on Erik's sofa, soft-eyed with drink. Her hair is down, and the hem of her dress has ridden up her legs.

"That's all right,” Charles says, feeling suddenly as if he’s intruding. “I'm tired from the flight, so I think I'm just going to turn in."

"Goodnight then," Erik tells him, his voice suddenly soft.

Charles throws him a smile before he turns and walks away.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Raven is drinking when Erik turns back. He tries to ignore her and, for a time, manages it. He hasn’t had the time to play chess in far too long; they game quickly lures his mind away from the intrusive American. As he tips over a white pawn, he wonders idly if Charles likes chess. It’s an odd thought- Charles liking chess or not has no bearing on the hunt for Schmidt- yet Erik finds the question compelling.

Naturally, just as Erik is deciding on what sort of game Charles would play, Raven turns the music on.

"Do you need to do that?" he asks, abandoning his one-man game.

She shrugs and continues dancing.

Erik gives her a minute before he gets to his feet and makes to shut the music off. She intercepts him on his way there and takes his hands.

"Do you dance?"

"No," Erik says shortly, knowing a ploy for information when he sees one.

"Really?” Raven blinks wide, heavily made up eyes at him. “Why not?"

"Go to your room, Raven."

Puffing out her cheeks, Raven elects instead to take one of Erik's hands and slap his cheek with it.

Eyes narrowing, he takes a step back, only for her to follow with a breathy laugh.

"Sorry."

She is anything but, Erik knows. "I am sure," he says anyway.

He lets her keep her hold on him. He doesn't know why.

Raven is pretty, but she doesn't inspire anything on him. He wants to play chess in peace more than he wants to do anything with her.

When she tries to smack him a second time, he dodges and uses his other hand to push her away.

"You're just like Charles," she snarls, and Erik watches her settle into a crouch. "I'm not a child anymore."

When she throws herself at him, he takes a step back and lets her run into the couch, which she tumbles onto gracelessly. She recovers quickly, and this time Erik barely has time to catch her by her wrists before she slams into him.

She struggles in his hold for a long minute before she gives up.

"What happened to Charles?" she asks thickly.

"You scared him away."

"Ah. That sounds like him."

"It does?"

Hauling herself away, Raven blows out a harsh breath. "My brother has very delicate sensibilities, Mr. Essen. He is also an arrogant, pig-headed bastard who thinks he knows everything."

Erik pinches the bridge of his nose. "You don't like your brother very much."

"I love Charles dearly, but no, I don't like him."

"I see."

"Do you?" Raven sways dangerously. "He doesn't see that I'm trapped. I can't just go places and do things like him. I couldn't be a thief because an unaccompanied girl draws attention, not to mention no one would hire me, or they'd try to swindle me."

"What sort of person hires a thief?" Erik asks, more interested in Charles' business than the siblings' issues.

"Families mostly," Raven says airily. "Charles spends a lot of time in Brooklyn talking to them. He doesn't charge them much, for some reason, even though he usually spends forever finding the stuff and usually has to fly to Europe or South America."

“And what sorts of things does he steal?”

“Mostly art and jewelry, I think,” Raven says, swaying on her feet. “Why?”

Erik shakes his head. It couldn't be... He's heard of an American thief stealing things back for Erik's displaced kin, but he thought it was a legend, a myth to comfort the elderly with the hope of one day seeing their belongings restored to them.

Raven clearly can't manage to walk herself to her room, so Erik picks her up as gently as he can and carries her there. He lays her out carefully on the bed and, after a moment's hesitation, takes her shoes off.

He may not care much about the Xaviers, but they are risking their lives to help him get Schmidt. He can try to keep them comfortable while they work together. It’s the sort of thing Mame would want him to do.

Sighing to himself, Erik resigns himself to playing therapist.

 

**_xx_ **

 

The next day, they share a table at breakfast and plan.

As Erik's face is known to Schmidt and his people, he reluctantly agrees not to attend the following day’s party. Raven, they decide, will be the one to make contact with the stepbrother, ostensibly attending the party alone but equipped with one of Erik's pilfered Soviet listening devices as well as a tracker. Once she establishes a connection with Cain, she will get him to bring her to Kurt. Meanwhile, Charles will sneak into the party on his own and charm the Nazi woman. A little of one of his cover identities’ own thieving background should do the trick to pique her interest- Charles Francis is a well-established thief with a reputation for discretion and success. If either gets into trouble, Erik will be hidden nearby to kick up a distraction long enough for them to get out.

It isn't the best plan, but Erik has seen worse.

After they finish planning, a hungover Raven returns to her room with threats that any noise from them will result in a swift death.

Erik is surprised to find himself grinning as she leaves. More surprising, he finds he likes her. She's young and brash, but she's smart. She knows what she deserves and wants to fight for it. He can respect that.

Her brother on the other hand... Erik still doesn't know what to make of Charles. He is equal parts skittish and thoughtless, careless despite his intelligence. Yet that carelessness saved Erik’s life, and Erik feels himself pulled toward Charles despite the man’s softness. There is something compelling about the promise of acceptance Charles seems to radiate.

Now is not the time for idle flights of fancy, Erik reminds himself sternly. Schmidt is close; Erik can almost feel him. He can worry about the softness in Charles' eyes when Erik excuses himself later.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"So," Raven drawls from her perch on the arm of the sofa. "Essen is quite striking, isn't he?"

"Not now, please," Charles says absently as he looks over yet another map of the rural town. Viñales is not a place he is familiar with, and the location of the yacht club where Mrs. Shaw is hosting her get together is sure to be crawling with security. He needs to find at least two exit strategies and get them to Raven and Erik before they leave.

Raven's priorities, however, are, as ever, different. "Do you think he's like you?"

"I don't see how that’s relevant."

"You don't?"

Charles sets his marker down with more force than necessary. "As I have said before," he says, as patiently as he can, "that isn't how it works. For one thing, just as you don't want Sean, I don't want just any man. For another, the reverse is also true. And for a third-"

He falters, and Raven pounces. "You actually like him, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does!" Raven explodes. "Charles, finding someone who gets you, who lets you be what you are without condition- what the hell could be more important than that? It's freedom. It's the best any of us could ever hope for."

The funny thing about siblings, Charles is forced to remember, is how often they don't understand each other. Taking in the sight of his sister bright with rage and wet eyes, he is forced to reexamine some things he had assumed.

"I'm due for a break," he tells her quietly. "I should be back within the hour."

Raven nods, though he can feel her confusion at the lack of push-back.

Charles wanders idly through the halls for a time before coming to the conclusion that wandering isn't helping him and deciding to chance a return to his suite. His sister is gone by then, which is fortunate, but as he steps into the bedroom, he discovers he isn't alone. Erik is sitting on the bed, scrupulously peeling a guava.

“I heard your sister.”

“From your hotel room?” Charles asks, pausing in the middle of the doorway. If she was audible that far away...

Erik shakes his head but remains fixed on peeling his fruit. “I came to check on your progress with the escape routes.”

“How did you know I was- Did you bug me?”

“I know thieves,” Erik explains blandly. “If they are any good, they always have a way out.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“You haven't been killed yet, so I assume you must have some talent.”

“High praise indeed.”

That gets him a ghost of a smile. Finishing up with the peel, Erik takes out a knife and sets about sectioning the fruit.

With nothing better to do, Charles takes a small bit of the skin and pops it in his mouth.

Erik makes a face somewhere between constipated and annoyed.

“What?”

“Americans," he says, huffing. "So used to decadence you don't think.”

“The skin is edible, isn't it?" Charles asks, searching for a reason for Erik's expression and coming up empty. "Isn't it?”

“It is,” Erik says, letting his face smooth into something closer to neutral. “But it is bitter. Try the flesh.”

He holds out a section, which Charles takes with only some misgiving. He's never actually had any before, but it looks edible. Smells a bit like lemon, and lemons are good.

“You aren't poisoning me, are you?”

Erik gives him a flat look. “No.”

Nibbling a bit- it tastes nice, more sweet than anything, definitely better than the skin- Charles presses, “Are you lying?”

“Eat it or give it back,” Erik tells him grumpily, holding out his free hand.

Charles pops the section into his mouth instead. He chews on it thoughtfully, enjoying the sweetness, but can't shake the feeling that he's missing something important.

When Erik passes him a second slice, Charles takes it without argument.

They eat like that for a while, Erik wordlessly handing over sections between taking his own, eventually producing a second guava and getting to work on that.

Charles is starting to feel full when Erik breaks the silence. “She has a point.”

“An infantile one.”

“Whose fault is that?” Erik challenges lightly. “You left her at home to be watched over like a child. Why would you expect her to be anything else?”

“I didn't have a choice.”

Erik doesn't answer, instead raising his brows and taking a bite of fruit.

“I didn't,” Charles protests, hackles rising. “What would you know about it, anyway?”

“I had a sister.” Erik cuts and hands a new section to Charles. “She was four years younger and liked to find trouble.”

Charles winces, but Erik ignores him. “You must let her grow up.”

“I am!”

“Not enough. She is still play acting at being an adult when she should be one.” Erik sighs. “This is not what I expected when you said your sister would help us. You are putting our lives in the hands of a child.”

“She isn’t a child! Raven is a smart girl. She can handle this.”

“Is that so?” Tipping his head back, Erik calls, “You can come out now.”

Not bothering to pretend she isn't there, Raven steps out from behind the doors, and all Charles' hopes of getting through this without a major argument disappear.

Erik places the last of the guava in Charles’ hands, wipes his hands on a napkin, and walks away.

“I was trying to give you a better life,” Charles says.

“I didn't ask for one.”

“No, you just sneaked into a stranger's kitchen and helped yourself.”

“Which should have told you I was good.”

 _“I caught you,”_ Charles hisses.

She flips her hair, radiating irritation. “Yeah, you did. But other people didn't, and even if they had, I got away. I wasn't helpless until you made me that way.”

 _What?_ “I gave you a home! Food, a place sleep... What would you rather I did?”

“You made me your pet!” Raven shouts. “'Don't touch this,' 'don't do that'. Why not just put a collar on me?”

“If you were so unhappy,” Charles grits, “why didn't you just leave?”

Raven’s anger wavers, replaced by sadness. "I don't know."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik listens to the siblings argue and briefly wonders if he should have stayed out of it. No, he resolves, it's better to get this out of their systems. Misunderstandings and hurt feelings only endanger the mission. He doesn't need them to be happy. He needs them to be on the same page. This will accomplish that.

Tomorrow they meet Cain Marko, and from him, or from Schmidt’s woman, Erik will learn Kurt Marko's location- and that will take him to Schmidt. The chase will come to its end soon.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Raven leaves in a huff, and Charles, still smarting from the fight, goes off in search of the instigator. When Erik doesn't answer the knocks on his hotel door, Charles figures the man is out brooding and decides that isn't such a bad idea. His brooding, however, need not be lonely. The pretty lady behind the front desk seemed like she would be obliging.

It turns out she is, but somehow, Charles drinks a little too much and finds that when things get going, they don't actually go anyway. It's a shame. She really is a beautiful woman.

Unimpressed by underperforming Englishmen, the woman doesn't stick around. In her absence, Charles figures he may as well finish the bottle on his own.

Next thing he knows, he's sitting outside Erik's room, and the man himself is standing before him, arms crossed and scowling.

“You,” Erik announces, “are drunk.”

Charles nods, pleased Erik noticed.

“Up. You need to be sober tomorrow.”

Together they get Charles to his feet. Charles has to lean on Erik to stay upright, but it's fine. Erik smells nice. He's firm, too. Good for leaning on.

Erik walks him through the hall, past the pretty lady back at the front desk, and out the front door. The air outside is cooler, bracing as they walk along the road. Charles lets himself lean heavily against Erik as they go, which Erik tolerates with minimal grumbling under his breath.

They end up climbing a hill and sitting at the base of the _Christ of Havana_. Erik sits down neatly while Charles simply flops to the ground, drunk and tired. He lists to the side, head coming to rest on Erik's shoulder. Erik permits the invasion but mutters a warning against drooling on him.

No one else comes to admire the view, leaving Charles free to take in Havana laid out and glowing against the dark without an audience. It's a beautiful sight. Too bad they aren’t here for fun.

Charles shivers against the cold seeping through the pleasant haze of drink, and a moment later, Erik puts an arm around his shoulders. Charles sighs and snuggles closer.

"You are going to regret this tomorrow."

Charles nods.

"Did you fix things with your sister?"

"She hates me," Charles says miserably. "I never noticed. How'd I never notice?"

Erik pinches his nose. "That does not sound fixed."

"Close enough. She'll do her part, and I'll do mine, and you can kill Shaw." A thought occurs to him, loud and strenuous. "How come you want to kill him so much?"

"He's a Nazi."

"It's more than that, though, isn’t it? He's a particular Nazi."

Behind them, the trees rustle as startled birds take flight. Their unhappy caws echo in the empty dark.

Erik twists to look over Charles' shoulder, but the light from the city doesn't illuminate the woods that surround them. Only the moonlight reveals anything, and it, too, is too weak to light up the trees. What it does reach is Erik's face. His pale eyes. The scar on his upper lip. His wide nose and squared chin. The ginger stubble along his jaw.

His lips, wide and thin, as he says, "Schmidt killed my mother. He shot her in front of me, thinking there would be no consequences. But there will be, Charles. I exist because of what he did, and I will not let him escape."

A shudder runs up Charles' spine despite being warm under Erik's arm.

“Maybe we should go back in?” he suggests. “Tomorrow is a going to be a big day.”

"You bet it is," growls a new voice. A moment later, a group of men materializes out of the woods. "For us."

The group laughs. Erik tenses. Charles blurts, "I don't think they want to be our friends."

"Your friend is right," says a second unfamiliar man. "Now give us your wallets."

Charles does so readily. Erik, however, makes a face that says he would rather make a run for it. Or worse, fight them.

"Erik, my friend, give the men your wallet."

It takes a long moment and a flash of teeth, but Erik reluctantly reaches into his pocket and hands over his wallet. As he does, the necklace he seems to have perpetually about his neck slips out of his shirt and catches in the light.

"That, too."

Erik freezes. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"No."

"Hand it over, or I'll blow your brains out and take it myself." A click follows the words. Charles may not be good with guns, but he knows how to use them. He knows the sound of a hammer cocking. With the hand resting on the back of Erik's shoulder, he feels the muscles tense.

"Erik," Charles warns, "give the man the necklace."

In the light from the moon, he watches Erik's nostrils flare.

The nearest man makes a "hurry up" motion, and Erik slowly reaches up and slips the necklace over his head. His body trembles as he hands it over. The thief accepts it with a sick smile, only to lose it a moment later when Erik's leg snaps out and collides with the front of his knee. The sound of impact is a dull thud; the sound of pain as the thief topples over is high and tight.

Immediately, four more guns cock.

Erik's lips pull back in a grimace. "Oops. I twitched."

The thieves exchange looks but settle on having one man help their injured comrade limp with them back into the night.

As soon as they disappear, Erik lurches to his feet. He glares down the path they took as if he might follow and shakes off the hand on his shoulder.

"Think of Shaw," Charles cautions. "Raven and I need our backup, Erik. We need you."

He half expects a denial, but Erik shakes himself and, after a long moment spent staring at Charles, lets out a breath. When he speaks, his voice is rough.

"That was my mother’s."

Charles can say nothing to that, so he says nothing. His pleasant looseness from earlier is gone. His head is pounding. He needs to sleep so he can wake up and get over the hangover.

"Let's go," he says wearily. "Tomorrow's waiting."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for dubcon between charles and emma

They don't meet up the next morning. The plan is set, and Charles slipped the finished getaway plans under the others’ doors before he overindulged. There is nothing to be done except put the plan into action.

Charles takes a taxi to the party and spends the ride alternately fuming and worrying. Raven isn't as experienced as Erik and he are, and Cain has a way of getting under a person's skin. He was particularly skilled at provoking Raven when they were children. She's still young and impulsive, and the buttons Cain used to push are still there. If she blows up at him this time, it could be the end of their one shot at Shaw. Losing that would decimate Erik.

The CIA wouldn't be too happy either.

Charles stares out the window and thumbs idly at the transmitter in his pocket. He wonders what he's going to do with the pain in his chest at the thought of Erik's pain over another lost chance at vengeance if it comes to that. Never mind what he will do with Erik.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik gets himself set up on a hill not far from the party. On the tracker’s screen, he can see the dots that represent Raven and Charles. Raven is already at the party; Charles is still making his way over.

This is nothing like Erik's usual plans, yet it is also fundamentally the same: get in, get what’s necessary, get out. The only difference is Erik is watching instead of leading. No matter what happens, he must remain invisible. He will not be swayed by his affection for Raven and her impetuous spirit. He will not intervene if Charles cannot talk his way in. He will not act unless one of them is in danger, and even then, he will only leave his post if doing so will not endanger his endgame.

Schmidt is the reason for all Erik does. Getting to him is all that matters. The death toll on Erik's hands is already great; adding two more would be nothing.

It would hurt, but Erik is used to pain.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Cain meets her by the track. He has somehow gotten even bigger in their time apart; already a giant in their youth, he looms over Raven as a juggernaut now. When he sees her, he lets out a booming laugh that would be welcoming if it didn't have such a sharp edge.

"Little sister!" he shouts as he drags her in for a crushing hug. Raven returns it as weakly as she can- feed his ego, make him feel powerful, and Cain gets sloppy. Maybe he is bigger, but she doubts he has grown any less careless.

"Hello, Cain," she wheezes when he finally releases her. She doesn't have to feign it; his grip around her ribs was hard enough to bruise. "How are you? I haven't seen you in... oh, not long enough."

Rather than be put off, Cain lets out another laugh and claps her on the back. Hard. "I'm good. Got promoted again. The Army knows quality when it sees it."

A lie. Cain got kicked out years ago. "Are you sure you should be here? I'd think meeting Kurt's friends in Cuba would be bad for you."

"Ha! Big Brother is a myth. The government can't track me if I get a fake passport. Which I did, because I'm not an idiot."

 _Debatable._ "Have you seen Kurt yet?"

Cain's eyes narrow. "No, and I'm surprised you want to."

"My account is getting low," Raven says with a sniff. "Suspiciously so, since I haven't been using it."

"Back to his old tricks, is he?" Cain scuffs his shoe in the dirt. There is no goodwill between Raven and him, but Cain hates Kurt as much as she does. He only puts up with his father out of some impossible wish to finally please him. "You sure it isn't our brother stealing from you? Charles has quite a reputation these days."

Shrugging, Raven takes a moment to grab a glass of champagne off a passing waiter's tray. Her hands are shaking, but she doubts Cain has noticed. A little bubbly might calm her nerves before he catches on- at the very least, it will give her hands something to do other than clench into fists.

"Charles has his own fund," she says after taking a sip. "It's in good shape from what I can tell, and he isn't one to find trouble if he can avoid it."

"Always was a coward," Cain spits.

Raven nods her agreement. Her brother is not a brave man. He's a stupid one and a resolute one, but he never looks for opportunities to be brave. They get forced on him. "You think you can get me in contact with Kurt?"

"I'll see what I can do," Cain says slowly. "But for now, let's watch the race, huh?"

Bile rises up in her throat, but Raven nods and swallows it back. She can handle this. She must.

 

**_xx_ **

 

The best part of being a thief is staging the break in. Sure, making off with the goods is exhilarating, and the thrill of being chased is unparalleled. But there is something almost magical about slipping past the defenses and getting at what’s inside. And like prying a lock open, crashing a party is harmless. Charles doesn't get shot at, and he doesn't have to shoot back. It's all about being smooth and not making any mistakes, and that, breaking in perfectly seamlessly, is true art.

Charles began his break in this morning. He chose a rakish suit, linen and pale blue, something befitting the warm Gulf weather. Then he set about preparing his demeanor. Cool, suave, and flirty- not unlike James Bond, but light fingered. Something outlandish and unapologetic to catch Mrs. Shaw off guard.

A little bit of thievery, he's found, is a strange but effective route to a woman's interest. He just needs the right time and item to pilfer.

The true challenge is lifting an invitation. Happily, a young girl with dark skin and flowing hair coming away from the main tent as Charles heads toward it has hers in her pocket. He has a strategic, accidental run in with her- lovely perfume, very light but distinctive, more expensive than her dress- that sees him leave with an invitation and her continue on her way with a lighter skinned Hispanic man Charles briefly admires on his way past.

Once inside the tent, he spots Mrs. Frost immediately. She is striking with her blond hair and porcelain skin, and though many of the women are dressed in white, her close-cut skirt and plunging neckline give her away. Charles has seen his share of beautiful women, but Emma Shaw is in a class of her own. Her expression is severe, hinting that although the party is going well, she isn't having fun.

All Charles needs is a nosy attendant...

 _"Perdóneme, Señor,"_ says an accommodating voice, "but I need to see your invitation."

Charles smiles. Despite his hangover, fortune is smiling on him.

 _"Por qué?"_ he asks, knowing it will put the man on the defensive.

It does, and soon enough, the two are arguing. Charles struggles to keep up with some of the man's rapid Cuban- if only he had learned Spanish in America and not Europe- but things quickly come to a head when the man puts his hand on Charles' shoulder.

 _"No soy tu hermana ni una cabra,"_ Charles hisses. _"Suéltame nomás."_

The man makes to drag Charles away, so Charles, making use of the crowd’s interest, resists and sends them both careening into the heavily laden table behind them.

Mrs. Shaw makes an appearance as Charles and the man begin to wrestle. The attendant tries to tell her Charles doesn't have an invitation, at which point Charles proudly produces the stolen card. Mrs. Shaw takes a moment to examine it before dispatching her shame-faced employee.

She offers her hand to Charles, who gladly takes it. Back on his feet, he gives her a smile and his apologies for the mess, which she promptly waves away.

"I find it rather close in here," Shaw tells him airily. "Walk with me?"

Charles smiles brightly. "It would be my pleasure."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik frowns at the tent. The bug he planted on Charles is relaying a disturbing amount of flirting. Charles' tone is indulgent and light as he meets a Señora Figueroa and, after she leaves, explains to a not-quite accusatory Lady Schmidt that he will happily hand over the ring he stole for her to return to the aging woman. He also returns a necklace and a bracelet he took off Schmidt herself.

 _It's just to disarm her,_ Erik reminds himself sternly. _That's all._ Charles wouldn't actually fall for a Nazi.

Charles makes a quip about wearing masks but not when he's stealing, and Schmidt lets out a throaty laugh.

Hands shaking furiously, Erik reaches for his necklace but touches only his own throat.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Raven gets rebuffed by Cain but not as thoroughly as she would have thought.

"I can't put you through to him," Cain tells her imperiously. "You know he's keeping to himself these days. But if you'll be sticking around... Maybe we could figure something out."

Forcing a laugh at her stepbrother's ominous tone, Raven nods. "If it means getting my money back, I'll stick around for as long as necessary- provided you aren't jerking me around. You wouldn't do that, would you, Cain?"

"Of course not, pet," Cain says with a smile that promises the opposite. "You stay safe now. I hear there are thieves around."

Raven freezes. "Thieves?"

"Gangs of 'em," Cain confirms. "Been going after tourists of late. You might want to get yourself a gun, pretty girl like you."

Swallowing back against the fear sticking in her throat, Raven nods. " Maybe I will."

That makes Cain bark a laugh, but thankfully, he walks off, taunting done.

Mission complete, Raven is left to wonder whether she can leave yet. She wanders across the grounds as she does, eventually winding up in the big tent at the heart of the event. She has nearly decided just to walk up to Erik and demand to go when she spies a waiter with a full tray about to fly into a well-dressed man a few feet away. Having worked as a waitress, Raven knows the hell that will follow for the poor man and quickly intervenes, taking hold of the far edge of the wide, lipless tray before it can send its many drinks flying.

Eyes wide, the waiter is thanking her profusely when someone begins clapping.

"Well done!" says the man whose suit Raven just saved. "Brilliant save, Ms...?"

"Darkhölme," Raven finishes. "Raven Darkhölme."

The man grins at her. He is a bit too old for her taste, his hair graying and his face lined around his thin lips and dancing blue eyes, but he has a presence, a feeling of command about him, that she finds herself drawn to anyway. He holds out his hand, and when she takes it, he presses a light kiss to her knuckles. From another man it would be creepy. From him, it feels gallant.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms Darkhölme. My name is Sebastian Shaw, and I must say, I wasn't aware my wife and I had any friends of such uncommon grace."

Raven's heart stutters at the praise, even as her stomach goes cold. Of all the men here, why did it have to be Sebastian Shaw?

 

**_xx_ **

 

Schmidt’s voice is unmistakable. The years had not dimmed it in Miami, and it is no stranger even now, when it pours out tinny headphones.

Already barely controlling his rage at Charles' flirting, Erik can't keep still when the man's sister joins in.

Stashing his apparatus in a nearby bush, Erik gets to his feet and starts walking. With this much alcohol around, there is bound to be someone foolish enough to try to start a fight him.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Having thoroughly charmed Mrs. Shaw and a friend of hers, who turned out to be the dark-skinned girl Charles stole his invitation from- which she clearly noticed- Charles heads away from the tents secure in the knowledge that she will undoubtedly be calling on him. For his talents as a thief or otherwise...

Shuddering, he can only hope it will be the former.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Raven spends a timeless stretch at the party with Sebastian, as she has been instructed to call him. Her time is cut off when, to her relief and confusion, she looks over Shaw's shoulder and sees Erik marching through the crowd with an expression that says murder.

"I'm so sorry, sir- ah, Sebastian. But I think I just saw one of the girls run off in some distress, and I can't in good conscience ignore her. I hope you'll forgive me?"

Shaw nods genially. "Don't let me keep our heroine from saving another from distress. It was a pleasure to speak with you, Raven. I hope I get the chance to do so again."

"I would as well," Raven tells him, and to her horror, she means it.

The whole way to Erik, she tells herself, _Nazi Nazi Nazi, that man is Nazi. He's disgusting. I hate him._

It takes some looking, but eventually Raven notices Charles pointing their big friend to a taxi and practically pushing him in. Relief floods her as the door shuts and stays that way. Charles doesn't wave when he sees her, but then, they're strangers here. He gets into his own taxi, and Raven does the same, as strangers who don't know they have then same destination in mind would do.

Resting her head against the window, Raven sighs. She thought this would be simple. Get in, get what she needs, get out. Why is nothing ever as it seems? And why does her brother have to complicate her life even now?

 

**_xx_ **

 

They meet up in Charles' room, as it's the biggest. Erik is already there when Raven arrives.

"I hope you don't need the restroom," Charles tells her dryly when he spots her closing the door. "Our friend has locked himself inside. It seems he needs to do some cleaning up after his fun with those Cuban boys he met in the previous rest room."

Raven pauses with a pilfered slice of some brightly colored fruit on her lips. "He what?"

"Fuck them!" Erik shouts, voice muffled through the door. "Nazi pigs, all of them!"

Charles shrugs at Raven. "He has a point. I just wish he hadn't put Señora Figueroa's grandson in the hospital!” he shouts, turning toward the bathroom. “We don't know he's a Nazi, Erik."

“He is still a nasty little man, and he deserved to be put over my knee.”

“That was not your knee you put him over,” Charles says dryly. “And now everyone is on alert for the man who broke the little prince's face.”

Dropping the fruit back into its bowl sadly, Raven squeezes the bridge of her nose. "Is that why you two were fighting on the way out?"

Charles pinks immediately, and Erik remains uncharacteristically silent.

"Great. Well, I think I've got Cain where we need him, so unless you boys need me, I'm going for a swim."

Neither says anything, so Raven takes that to mean she can go hang out on the beach and try to forget all the memories seeing Cain brought back up.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"You're still a mess."

Erik stops just before the door. "I am not."

"Your fists haven't stopped bleeding yet," Charles points out.

Erik glances down to confirm, and yes, there is blood running down his fingers. Betrayed by his own skin.

"Sit down, and I'll wrap them up. The last thing I need is to pay to get blood out of a hotel carpet."

Erik is tired, his stomach is roiling, and he wants to be alone. He sits down anyway.

Charles gives him a weak smile and heads back to his bedroom. Erik doesn't watch him go, but he does listen for the sounds of a gun cocking or a knife coming unsheathed. You can never be too careful. Charles was too comfortable with Schmidt’s wife for comfort.

The sounds of Charles' return are accompanied by the shuffling of papers and the slap of something solid on the table. Opening his eyes, Erik spots a tube of ointment and, as Charles digs through the box on his lap, two rolls of bandages.

"I used to box," Charles explains, "so I can wrap you up without compromising your fists. All right?"

Erik nods, and Charles gets to work.

For a time, neither of them says anything. Erik hisses when Charles cleans up the blood and winces when he rubs the ointment in, but Charles says nothing. He just keeps wrapping. It isn't until he's done with one hand and beginning to wrap the other that he says, "I wasn't happy about it."

Erik doesn't need to be told what "it" was, but he stares at his hands and pretends he does.

"I know you know what I'm talking about," Charles tells him.

Erik shrugs.

"For heaven's sake- I'm not interested in her," Charles snaps. "She's as rotten as he is. But I understand women, Erik. Flirting with them is easy. I didn't let myself think about what she is, and that let me get close to her.'

"What a luxury," Erik says lowly, "to forget. To ignore what you know is happening."

Charles stops wrapping and looks up at Erik, eyes hard. "It's that luxury that is helping you get what you want, so I'd be careful who I pick fights with if I were you."

"You think I want to kill Schmidt?” Erik shakes his head. “No, Charles. I _have_ to kill him. I cannot let the blood he spilled go unanswered. I will not let it go unanswered."

"What do you want, then?"

Thrown, Erik blinks at Charles, but the man only raises a brow in challenge.

Erik's first thought is "you", but that makes no sense. He has no use for Charles beyond getting at Schmidt. Therefore Erik has no reason to want him.

The more he thinks about it, though, the more he thinks he might. Not as a tool or a temporal ally. Sitting under that statue, Erik had almost felt complacent with Charles tucked under his arm. For a flash of time, he had been something akin to comfortable as they quietly looked out over the city.

But was that for Charles, or was it only for the first person to sit beside him who knew what Erik is and didn’t have to die for it?

Expression softening, Charles returns to wrapping Erik's hand. "I only meant to make you think of the rest of your life. You deserve to have more than Nazis, Erik. You deserve to be happy."

This is more than Erik intended. He isn't prepared for a kindness offensive, and he needs a way out of this, fast. He reaches for his necklace and the soothing feeling he always gets from touching the links in the chain, only to remember it's gone. If Charles hadn't been there, or if he'd been sober, Erik wouldn't have lost it. Now he can't even rely on hunting Nazis to find it again. Local thieves will have pawned it by now, and with it, the last connection Erik had to his family.

"I would rather focus on Schmidt than hypotheticals," he says shortly.

Charles frowns but nods and finishes tucking the end of the wrap. "You're all done, then. I was thinking I would poke around some at the Shaws' home tonight. You up for it?"

Erik nods sharply. "When do we leave?"

 

**_xx_ **

 

The sun is beating down warmly when Raven finishes arranging herself on her towel. She's on her back, sunglasses pulled down, when someone plops down in the sand next to her.

"Hello."

Peering over her shades, Raven lifts a brow. "Weren't you at the party earlier?"

The other girl smiles and holds out a hand. "Angel Salvadore. Good to meet you."

 

**_xx_ **

 

"What about the alarm?"

Charles rolls his eyes and opens the safe door. "This model doesn't have one."

A moment later, an alarm sounds and a red light flashes. The sound of feet scurrying toward them echo through the room. Erik hefts a sigh. "Well done, Professor."

"It seems the Shaws got a custom model,” Charles says, as if he hasn’t just summoned a miniature army down on them. “Fight or run?"

"Fight," Erik picks grimly.

"Run it is!"

Grabbing Erik's hand, Charles tows him along behind him. Erik balks, shouting something about needing his hand to shoot, but Charles ignores him and keeps hauling him forward.

"I took a taxi," Charles shouts over the sound of gunfire. "How did you get here?"

Running past Charles, Erik leans in as he goes and hollers, "Follow me!"

 

**_xx_ **

 

Angel and Raven spend the afternoon together in comfort. Angel knows people, so they wind up with free drinks which they sip at while trading stories until the sun goes down.

"So," Angel drawls as she climbs to her feet and makes a cursory attempt at brushing the sand off her legs, "you got any plans for the rest of the week?"

"Not yet."

"Shame. Let me know if that changes, won't you?" Angel asks with a wink, and Raven feels her skin heat.

"I will."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Charles has been in worse situations. He knows he has. He just can't remember any at the moment.

As he's the passenger on a Vespa currently getting shot at while his driver attempts to lose their pursuers in Havana's swiftly darkening streets, he supposes that's a normal reaction. He certainly hopes it is.

Erik manages to lose the shooters somehow, but Charles can't bring himself to loosen his grip until they come to a stop and Erik makes him get up.

"Upstairs," he orders. "You wash, then you go to sleep. You look like shit."

Erik ought to know. "Yes, Erik."

"Good. Now go."

Charles does. His feet feel like they're made of lead, he hates that they didn't get anything from the safe, and he wants nothing more than to scrub the sound of gunfire from his memory. He's never liked guns. Never much cared for violence as a general rule, really. Thieves get avoid most of that unpleasantness if they’re good like Charles is.

He can still hear the _pop pop pop_ of bullets being fired at him.

Raven, thankfully, is nowhere to be seen, so Charles can strip off and ignore the flashing message light on the hotel's phone. He turns the water on hot for his shower and jumps under the searing spray, where he lingers for long minutes until he hears his door unlock. He turns the water off quickly, grabs his bathrobe and a toothbrush, and wanders as calmly as he can into the main room.

"Emma, darling," he purrs as convincingly as he can when he spots her. "What brings you here?"

She doesn't feign innocence, which is a blessing, until it becomes clear that she came to Charles' room for something involving little talking at all.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik goes for his equipment the second he reaches his room. He saw Schmidt’s woman on her way up, and her expression said she was here for serious business. If Charles is in trouble, Erik needs to know about it.

It takes him too long to find the correct frequency. He should have put the second bug on a channel closer to the tracker’s...

_"Oh!"_

The sound is so loud and unexpected Erik nearly drops the headset. That was a female voice, and it didn't sound pained...

A low grunt and something squeaking come across the set, followed by an even louder, _"Oh, Charles!"_

Face heating and hands fumbling, Erik tugs the headset off and shuts the machine off. When Charles said he got the woman’s attention, he neglected to say how effectively he got it.

Erik shakes the thoughts from his head. He needs to sleep, and thinking of what Charles must doing with that vile woman will only make that more difficult.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Charles sits down in the chair across from Erik at the small buffet room. He doesn't have a tray, only coffee, but he may have eaten already. Taking in the man’s drawn face and shaking hands, Erik would guess he hasn’t.

"Good morning."

"I want to take the day off."

Erik flips the page on his newspaper but says nothing, sensing Charles will explain on his own if given the space to do so.

"Do you hear me?" Charles presses. "I'm not going anywhere or doing anything with those people. Not today."

"Very well."

"You aren't going to argue?"

"I cannot make you help me," Erik says, reaching for his own cup of coffee. Still burning hot, he blows on it to cool it down- beside him, Charles tenses. "Raven wants to take day off as well. I can give my wayward Americans day off if it means you will be better focused tomorrow."

Charles nods and sags against his chair in relief.

"Shaw... took a lot out of me," he confesses. "She visited me last night."

"I heard."

Charles narrows his eyes. "How did you- So you _did_ bug me!"

"I didn't listen long," Erik interrupts calmly. "I saw her on the stairs and wanted to be certain she wasn't strangling you. That did not sound to be the case, so I did not continue to listen."

"That doesn't negate the fact that you bugged me!"

"Careful, Charles. Other people might hear."

"Let them! Let them all hear how Emma Shaw used me-" He breaks off, but Erik can fill in enough of the blanks.

Folding the paper back up, Erik resolves himself to a day of painting over cracks. "When I was a boy," he says to his coffee, "I was prone to outbursts. Little things would make me so angry, I would scream and kick and scare everyone around me. My mother told me I had to learn how to control my thoughts."

"And how were you to do that?" Charles asks roughly.

"Find something good and think about it until I could act like a good boy." Erik closes his eyes, casting his mind back. "I chose her."

"Did it work?"

Erik shrugs. "As much as anything."

Charles nods, but Erik can tell last night is still hanging over him. Getting to his feet, he throws back the last of his coffee. "Come, then. Let us see what Havana has for us to see."

 

**_xx_ **

 

The phone rings.

Raven hesitates in the doorway. It's probably nothing, and she really wants to get a good spot before the beach gets too crowded.

"Damn it," she growls, dropping her towel and dashing to the phone. "Hello?"

"Raven, my sister," comes Cain's voice. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

 _You always disturb me,_ Raven thinks spitefully. "Not at all. What makes you call?"

"Getting right to business as always." Cain chuckles. "Well, I wanted to invite you over for a little party of sorts. Sebastian Shaw will be there. He was very impressed with you, for some reason."

"I saved his suit from a clumsy waiter. That's all."

"Well, it made an impression. Why don't you come over tomorrow, around noon?"

Raven resists the urge to put it off. She can't seem too willing, true, but she can't be too picky either. "Any chance Uncle Kurt will be there?"

"None. But I might be able to help you get a message to him. If you come."

"Then I'll be there. Just give me the address."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik hires a cab whose driver turns out to be an expert on Havana and the best touristy places. He even hops out once to get them a discount on a local drink Charles doesn't catch but is sweet and fruity around the burn of liquor. Erik buys him a second one without having to ask, and they all have a friendly laugh at Charles' expense when he greedily abandons his finished drink for the fresh one.

After mostly looking out the cab window, they have their driver drop them off at the _Acuario Nacional de Cuba_.

"Built in 1960," Erik reads as they walk in. "A new addition, then."

Charles nods but is more interested in getting to the exhibits than reading about the architecture. If that bothers his companion, Erik says nothing. He simply follows along dutifully as Charles heads off in search of the dolphinarium.

They find it easily, and Charles immediately loses any interest in seeing any other exhibits. Like all the other visitors, he watches raptly as the animals dive and click at each other. At one point, he grabs Erik's arm and points to one of the dolphins and excitedly tells him how wonderful a feature the blow hole is.

He's so caught up in discussing its importance, he doesn't think anything of lowering his voice and pointing out that male dolphins have been observed to use another's blow hole in a form of coitus.

"I can't imagine it's much fun to have a friend do that to you," Charles adds hurriedly. Erik doesn't seem upset by the revelation- he is, in fact, making a face that says he's mildly amused- but you can never be too careful. "I don't have a blow hole, but I doubt if I did that it would be a place I'd want traffic, if you take my meaning."

Expression only growing more amused at Charles' flustered speech, Erik shakes his head. "Who knows, Charles? Maybe you would enjoy it if you tried."

Charles lets go of Erik's arm as they reluctantly move on. "If I ever develop a blow hole, I'll let you know."

Erik doesn't reply, but as they peer at the next exhibit, he's smiling wider than Charles can recall seeing.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"Back already? I thought you got burned too bad ever to show your face here again."

Raven snorts and waggles her bottle of sunscreen at Angel's mocking face. "I came prepared this time, Ms Salvadore."

Her friend raises a brow as she spreads her towel out beside Raven. "That so? Well, we'll see."

"We will. You won't believe how effective this stuff is."

Angel smiles. "Oh, really?"

Raven smiles in return. "Really."

 

**_xx_ **

 

By the time they leave, Erik and Charles are grinning and bumping elbows. Erik chuckles as Charles stumbles over himself as he tries to explain the exciting evolution of Neanderthals to modern humans. Charles rights himself with a look of deep concentration.

"How did you find alcohol in an aquarium?" Erik wonders aloud. Charles only smiles at him and makes a shushing motion.

Getting him into a cab is easy, once Erik manages to flag one down. Getting him out again is significantly harder. Charles falls asleep not five minutes after they get in, and despite the strange look his silence garners from the driver, Erik lets Charles' head stay on his shoulder where it falls. Once they reach the hotel, Erik debates with himself how best to get Charles out before shrugging to himself and scooping Charles up into a bridal-style carry.

The woman behind the desk gives him a strange look as he passes that morphs into a knowing expression as Erik shifts Charles onto his shoulder. Erik ignores her and, after a brief pause, forgoes the elevators in favor of the stairs.

Charles doesn't stir the entire way up. He looked exhausted over breakfast, and without his conscious attempts to pep up, he only looks worse now.

Erik drops Charles off on his bed, which the maid has obligingly remade. Looking over his companion now, Erik feels an uncomfortable twisting in his gut. He doesn't know what it is, doesn't want to know, but now he's felt it, it refuses to go away. It still makes his gut cramp when his eyes are shut and when he leaves the room. If anything, distance makes it worse, so back Erik comes, back to the squeaky hotel bed and the man who might be Erik's friend lying on it.

With nothing else to do, Erik drops to the floor, pulls down the trashy book on the bedside table, and settles in to wait until Charles gets up.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Angel has tears in her eyes.

"Stop it," Raven whines. "I mean it, Angel. This isn't funny!"

"You look like a lobster!"

Raven frowns. "It hurts, you jerk!"

Her friend doesn't stop laughing. "You should see your face!" Angel wheezes. "So red!"

"I hate you."

"That's what you get for falling asleep on the beach."

"And you couldn't wake me up, why?"

"You're cute when you sleep."

Oh. _Oh._ "You're-"

"Like you?" Angel stretches her arms above her head. Her lips quirk into a knowing smile. "You already knew that, Darkhölme."

"Well, yeah, but not-"

"Do you have any plans for this week?"

Thrown by the question, Raven needs a moment to remember what that means. "Oh! Yeah, I do. I see my stepbrother tomorrow."

Backlit by the sun, Angel lives up to her namesake. Her skin is glowing, and her long hair is flowing gently with the breeze. "Is that so?" she asks lightly, eyes sparkling. "You should let me know how that goes."

"I can do that," Raven says unthinkingly, and Angel laughs.

"You better get going, lady, before you really do turn into a lobster."

Raven ducks her head. "I'll see you later, Salvadore."

"You better."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Charles wakes up feeling like death warmed up. He doesn't even realize Erik is talking to him until a waste basket appears before him just in time.

"Well done for not vomiting on the bed."

Still bent over the waste basket, Charles weakly raises a hand and flips him off.

"Still alive, then."

Groaning, Charles attempts to get up, only to feel himself pushed gently back down.

"I will clean up. You just stay there and try not to add to the mess."

He can do that. He can lie where he is while Erik extricates the waste basket from his hands and quietly pads away. Charles hears the toilet flush and water run, and he realizes slowly that Erik really is cleaning up.

"Sorry," he says when Erik returns.

"I have dealt with worse."

Remembering the tattoo on Erik's forearm makes Charles wince, but Erik only seems vaguely amused as he asks if Charles thinks he's going to need the basket again.

"Probably not, no."

"Can you get to the bathroom on your own?"

"I'm hungover, not a child, so yes."

He feels terrible as he says it, but his skin is prickling. He doesn't like feeling vulnerable. It's worse that the person seeing him like this is Erik. Who knows what horrors Erik has endured? What is Charles even doing acting pitiful about a little too much rum?

Scrabbling to get off the bed and onto his feet, he quickly identifies the bathroom door and heads inside. While he's in there and washing out his mouth, he hears a knock on a different door. Erik answers, voice low and words too quiet to make out, but a moment later the door squeaks and the sounds of plates clacking together make their way to Charles. A voice he doesn't recognize says something, to which Erik says something else Charles can't understand. The door squeaks shut, and a moment later, Erik pokes his head in.

"Dinner is here, if you're up to it."

Charles nods and braces himself to be grateful for whatever Erik bought for him. Waiting in the bedroom, however, are Erik, two plates of toast, and what proves to be a glass of milk. Charles lets out a breath and gladly takes a seat at the head of the bed facing Erik at the foot.

"Thank you," he says after inhaling the first slice.

Erik only shakes his head. “Is nothing."

Overcome by the need to thank him, to covey his relief at waking up to quiet assistance and food rather than interrogation, Charles reaches forward and lays his hand on Erik's. "I mean it, Erik. Thank you."

Erik turns solemn eyes on him, gaze unwavering as he studies Charles' face. Charles returns his scrutiny. Erik's features, Charles can't help but notice, really are striking. The intensity of his attention is dizzying.

_What are you thinking when you make that face? Are you thinking something good?_

No answers are forthcoming, but they rarely are with Erik.

Finally pulling back, Erik sighs. "Tomorrow will be difficult. Raven called while you were asleep. She has appointment to meet with your brother and Shaw. Your part will be to continue looking for information from the woman. Will you be able to handle that?"

"Of course."

"Charles." Erik's voice drops. "You are not spy. This is not your job. If you want to stop-"

"I said I could handle it," Charles growls, "so I'll handle it."

Erik cocks his head, eyes measuring Charles. "As you say. I will be with Raven, so if anything goes wrong, you will be on your own."

"That's fine."

"Very well. We will all need our sleep, so you should get comfortable."

"But this is your bed."

"I have slept on worse than carpets."

"I won’t kick you out of bed in your own room."

They glare at each other for a long moment. Then Erik rolls his eyes. “Too bad. You cannot make me not sleep where I please, Charles. So do us both favor and go to sleep.”

Exhausted, Charles is in no position to argue further, so he settles for turning his back to Erik and resolutely not listening for the sounds of his host getting comfortable on the sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> massive apologies for what is probably horrendous spanish


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: torture

The next morning finds them gathered in Raven's room. Breakfast was a quick affair made of something Erik fetched when he woke up which Charles scarfed down without paying attention to anything but the mildly amused expression on Erik's face. They made their ways to Raven's room separately, Erik heading off first to get his tracking equipment ready and leaving Charles an extra half hour to lie in bed before he took off for his room and the change of clothes awaiting him.

Erik is the one to let him in. From the man's scowl, Charles suspects his sister has been playing amateur psychologist again but refrains from asking. Raven has a way of finding sensitive areas and poking them; that doesn’t mean he’s going to make it worse.

"Just to go over it one last time," Charles says as Raven comes sashaying into the main room, "I'll be seeing Emma Shaw at noon. At the same time, Raven will be meeting with Cain and hopefully getting information about Kurt. Erik will go with Raven as her backup. Everybody okay with that?"

Erik and Raven nod.

"Then unless one of you has something else to share-" Both shake their heads, "-we're done. Be careful, and don't hesitate to call for Erik," he adds for his sister's benefit. "I've no doubt he will protect you."

Over Raven's head, Erik nods solemnly.

Raven, however, puffs out her cheeks, looking ready to argue. "I'll be fine," she says, voice tense, after a moment, "but if it will stop you mother henning me, yes, of course I will call for Erik if I need him. Isn't that right, Magneto?"

"Magneto?" Charles echoes.

Erik narrows his eyes and folds his arms across his chest; Raven throws Charles a look of delight, which is all the explanation he gets before the phone rings and the front desk is telling Raven of Cain's arrival.

"Be careful," Charles warns one last time, to which Raven grumbles, "I will!"

Then she is out the door, and Charles is left alone with Erik.

Drawing a breath, he begins, "About yesterday-"

"You needed to let off steam." Erik shrugs. "So you drank. I understand the impulse."

"I don’t recall you drinking. What do you do?"

"Kill Nazis."

That, Charles thinks stupidly, should have been obvious.

He and Erik will be leaving soon- Erik is letting Raven go ahead without him to keep Cain from noticing they are being followed, while Charles simply has an appointment later in the day.

"You be careful, too, Magneto."

Erik still has his arms crossed, but his expression softens. “And you, Professor.”

Charles smiles as steadily as he can. "I think I can handle one woman."

"One Nazi woman," Erik corrects. "She will gut you if you give her opportunity."

"I wasn't planning on it, but thanks for the reminder."

Erik lingers a moment longer, his bright eyes locked with Charles' and his jaw working as if he wants to say something but can't find the words, before nodding crisply and walking out.

_What was that about?_ Charles wonders but puts the thought out of his mind quickly. It doesn't matter, and he has actual concerns to keep track of, like not getting caught by Emma Shaw.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik does not like this. He does not like splitting up, and he does not like relying on an overgrown child.

What fool comes out and asks if a man is- that way? Erik could have killed her. Or worse, someone could have overheard. They don’t need more trouble than they already have.

Even if the way Erik's heart beats faster when he sees Charles means what he thinks it means, Raven was stupid to ask. Especially the morning of a mission. Erik will be glad to be on his own again when this is over. No more fussing over little girls or American lushes. Just Erik and the people he is hunting.

But if he is so ready to leave them, why does the thought of losing Raven's plucky determination and Charles' morning shuffle make his stomach knot?

 

**_xx_ **

 

Raven hates Cain.

She hates his unkind face and his angry fists.

She hates him in the car beside her. She hates him when he puts his hand on her back to guide her through the Shaws' house. She hates him when he sits her down in the chair beside him at the table.

She hates him when she lifts the hem of her dress and shows Cain and Sebastian Shaw the tracker Erik put around her thigh earlier.

She hates Cain when she gives up her brother, and she hates him when she tells Sebastian Shaw there is a former KGB spy hiding somewhere on his estate.

She hates him, she hates him, she hates him.

 

**_xx_ **

 

_"…probably hiding in your bushes as we speak…"_

Erik curses. He should have known Raven would give them up. She is so young, so hot-headed.

Perhaps he should have let her kiss him after all, he worries as he races across the grass. If he had not given himself away, Raven might have stayed loyal.

It’s a useless thought. The dogs are barking their fury as they chase him, the noise of their pursuit only getting louder the closer they get, and no amount of regret will call them off.

Erik has never liked dogs.

As he hauls himself and his hastily stashed equipment over a fence- another thing he has never liked- Erik decides none of it matters. His chance at Schmidt is ruined.

Nothing else matters.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Charles made a mistake.

"It was the Scotch, wasn't it?" he asks, the room spinning as he unsteadily makes his way to one of the sofas set up in Emma's office. "I thought it tasted salty. How did you know I'd drink that one- Oh, wait. You poisoned them all, didn't you?"

"A bit too late for that realization, I'm afraid," Emma purrs. "What on earth are you doing, Mr. Francis?"

Flopping onto his back on the office’s sofa, Charles lets out a sigh. "Preparing. I know how this goes, and I'd rather not split my head open on your floor."

Emma makes an understanding noise as she skims across the floor and comes to perch on the arm of the sofa by Charles' head. She runs her hand through his hair, and he shudders, a sick feeling twisting in his gut unrelated to the drug.

"I'm afraid you might wish you had, Charles. This night won't be nearly as fun as our previous one."

 

**_xx_ **

 

The engine roars as Erik powers the car down the road away from Raven.

Away from Schmidt.

Fury pounds in his ears as he relives again and again Raven's betrayal. It distracts him from thinking beyond his narrow escape for long enough he's nearly returned to Havana before he remembers he isn't the only one Raven gave up.

_A broch,_ he thinks viciously as he whips the car around.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Charles comes to with a sour taste in his mouth and a light shining in his eyes. The room around him is dark and dank, the chair he’s tied to moderately comfortable.

Facing him from an artful slouch in a cheap plastic chair is Emma Shaw. "Your sister gave you up," she explains without prompting. "She's quite taken with my husband."

_Damn it, Raven._

He always knew his sister would get him in trouble one day. Of course this mission of theirs was too much for her. He should have known she would find Trouble with a capital t.

But what brother suspects his sister would sell him out to Nazis?

He tests the cuffs locking him into the chair out of thoroughness rather than any real hope of escape. As expected, they don't budge.

Emma tsks. "I'd love to stay and watch the show, but I have a bomb to oversee. _¡Hasta luego!_ ”

She leans in and kisses his cheek as she passes, but when she pulls away, she whispers, "It's too bad you chose the Jew. You and I could have had so much fun."

Charles shudders.

At the door, Emma's snappy footsteps come to a stop.

"Don't make too much of a mess," she warns someone who probably isn’t Charles. "We will have to clean up afterward."

A low grunt is the only answer, but Charles would know that sound anywhere. His skin crawls with it. His gut ties itself in frigid knots. Sweat breaks out with the nervous uptick in his heartbeat.

Heavy, deliberate footsteps replace the delicate taps of Emma's heels.

A giant of a man skulks around the chair, his eyes narrowed cruelly, and says convivially, "Hello, brother."

 

**_xx_ **

 

This, Erik decides as he tries to get the tracking equipment going without pulling over or flipping the car, is not his day.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Strapped to a chair with his evil stepbrother is not the way Charles envisioned his day ending. Then again, he didn't envision it would be the way his life ended either.

"I learned a lot of things looking at Sebastian's notes," Cain tells him. There's a lightbulb suspended above Charles' head which Cain sets to swinging in circles before he sits down at the desk. It sways in time with the rhythm of Cain's words. It hurts Charles’ eyes; the bulb is bright against the darkness around him. He can only barely make out Cain in the corner of his eye; what little he can see is less than encouraging.

"Tell me, Charles. Do you know what man's two true masters are?"

Swallowing back a rush of bile- drugs always have the worst hangovers- Charles shakes his head. "Do I care?" he grits.

"You should," Cain tells him haughtily. "They're fear and pain. And in a minute, you will meet them both."

He steps forward into the light, then lifts his leg dramatically and brings it down with a sneer. That's when the pain starts. Charles’ heart convulses in his chest, his bones become too big for his skin. Electricity races through him like a snake, too fat to fit inside his skin but forcing its way through anyway. His heart stops in chest, but the pain doesn't. He can't breathe; it's too much, too much, too much-

It stops without warning. Charles gasps, pain and the need to breathe warring for precedence as he draws in shaking breaths.

Above him, the light bulb is still circling.

"How do you like it?" Cain asks. "I made it myself- got the inspiration from some of Sebastian's friends. They did incredible work in those camps, you know. Revolutionary."

"You're a monster," Charles rasps.

Cain only hums thoughtfully. He steps on the pedal again, and Charles braces for pain- but it never comes. Cain glares downward for a moment before making a noise of frustration. "Unfortunately," he says with a sigh, "revolution is not without its flaws."

If Charles had thought that would mean Cain was done with the torture, he would have been mistaken. Instead, Cain reaches into one of the drawers and begins rooting around. As he does, Charles slouches back in the chair and turns his eyes to the boxed off area across the room from him- just in time to see the guard fall over. A moment later, Erik appears. He lifts a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture, and Charles feels tears of relief spring to his eyes.

"What's wrong, Charlie boy?" Cain taunts. "Don't tell me you're going to cry already. I haven't even gotten the pliers out yet."

Erik ghosts through the room, eyes bright in the dark, and Charles shakes his head. "I've never been so glad to see someone as I am to see you."

Cain pauses in his searching. "What are you on about?"

"I believe," comes Erik's voice, soft and dangerous, "he was talking to me." Then he's swinging his arm up and Cain is slumping over on himself.

Charles looks over Cain's motionless body and observes quietly, "Just in time, my friend."

Erik bares his teeth in a fierce grin, pearly white features flashing in the dark. "Time to get up off your ass, Professor. You are ready?"

Charles nods, and Erik makes quick work of his binds, deftly sliding them open before holding out a hand for Charles to use to pry himself up.

"Why did you come?" Erik lifts a brow, and Charles adds a hasty, "You must know my sister gave us up. You could have gotten away. Any man could be forgiven for saving himself."

Swinging Charles' arm over his neck, Erik helps him over to Cain's chair. "When I left Auschwitz," he says softly, "I swore that I would never leave another living being behind to save myself." His eyes are fierce as he adds, "Schmidt and his kind took enough from me."

It strikes Charles yet again that Erik is a truly remarkable man. To have this much kindness when his life has been marred by such horror...

He is so caught up in marveling at Erik's remaining goodness that it takes him a moment to process what the man is doing.

"Don't bother objecting," Erik tells him, voice matter of fact, as if he hasn’t just dragged and tied Cain down to the same chair Charles just vacated. "He would have tortured you to death."

"But-"

"I want to know where Schmidt is. I would think you would want to collect your sister. This is best way of doing that."

Still, watching Erik hook Cain into the same straps that held Charles down makes his gut clench.

"You can leave if you like," Erik says lazily, despite the tension in his shoulders. He cocks his head, briefly studying the sight of Cain in the chair, before bringing his foot down. Cain jerks in the seat, his eyes flying open wide with pain, and Charles suddenly needs to swallow back a rush of bile.

Oblivious, Erik releases the pedal, only to press it again. Nothing happens, but Charles hears himself whimper anyway.

Erik whips around and frowns at him. "You should go into other room. I will fix problem."

"I'm not sure I can," Charles admits reluctantly.

"Then I will help you."

That is all the warning Charles gets before Erik strides over, lifts him up, and carries him into the other room. There aren't any chairs, though, so the two of them wind up standing in the middle of the room, Charles clutched firmly to Erik, both looking around for something that serve as a chair. As the only other thing in the room is the unconscious body of the guard Erik knocked out earlier, Charles isn't seeing anything useful.

He is just beginning to think he might as well tell Erik to put him down- he has borne the indignity of the position out of surprise more than anything- when Erik suddenly twists around. Through the massive window, Charles catches sight of his stepbrother- or what was his stepbrother. Cain's body is alight. The room itself is catching fire, but all Charles can see is the flaming chair.

"I think," Erik says softly, "the flaw is fixed."


	7. Chapter 7

"We have to go after her."

The proclamation comes on the heels of their arrival at the hotel. It would be easy, Erik knows, to tell Charles to go after his traitorous sister on his own. It would be easy to dismiss Raven as weak and undeserving of rescue.

It would be easy to pretend Erik has never been the traitor.

Instead, Erik takes in Charles' red fingertips, red from the blood running out his nose. Reminds himself of a man diving into the ocean after a stranger.

"We will talk after you shower," he says at last.

"My sister-"

"Will be fine. After those shocks, I cannot say same for you."

Charles wavers, but he's too tired to hold out long. "After I shower," he agrees tiredly.

They make their way through the hotel slowly. They are both tired, and Charles' arm around Erik's neck puts more than a little of the man's weight on him. By the time they reach the elevator, Charles is flagging. He sags against the wall hard when Erik leaves him to press the button for his floor.

"I can't believe she did it," Charles whispers upon his return. "I can't believe Raven would-"

"Everyone has point," Erik interrupts firmly. Inside he's seething at the betrayal, but even that is tempered with cold reality. People betray each other all the time. It happens, and there is no going back, no preventing pain. This, at least, he can do something about. "Better men have done worse."

"That doesn't make it right."

"No, it does not."

Charles digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I thought I gave her everything."

"You thought wrong. Happens to the best of us."

It draws a weak chuckle from Charles, but the sound makes the fist clenched in Erik's chest loosen.

_No._

Fighting down a wave of panic, Erik cuts a look to the side. Charles is in profile, still slumped against the elevator wall. He looks terrible. His bright eyes are a worn blue, the below them underlined with dark smudges, and from the dried blood on his chin, he bit through his lip at some point. The sight still makes Erik's heart wrench in a way that has nothing to do with sympathy.

He wants to reach over and wipe the blood off. Wants to run careful fingers over the broken skin. Wants to find out how Charles tastes, if it will change when he's happy or surprised.

He wants to fit his hands to Charles' body and catalogue every way they fit.

Instead, he bites his tongue and, once the elevator doors open, helps Charles into his room. Or would have, were it not for the woman already waiting inside.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Charles is dreaming of Erik freeing him from the chair when he hears Erik snap, "Who the hell are you?"

Squinting up from the floor, Charles follows Erik's scowl to the beautiful woman watching them from the sofa inside the room.

"Relax," she says smoothly, almost dismissively. "I'm a friend."

From the way Erik tenses, Charles is going to assume there won't be relaxing any time soon.

"I take it Raven betrayed you," the woman continues smoothly.

"How do you know about that?" Erik snaps. The arm around Charles' middle tightens painfully.

"Shut the door, and I'll tell you."

It takes a moment, but, slowly, Charles is shifted as Erik shifts them forward and kicks the door shut.

For some reason, that makes the woman smile. "My name is Angel Salvadore. I believe you know my CIA counterpart, Moira MacTaggert."

"Who do you work for?" Charles asks, half-wondering when Erik will let him go and half-hoping he never does.

Angel smiles. "MI6. And before you ask, yes, you both have files. No, we aren't actively looking to recruit you. Yes, you've already worked with one of our agents."

"I don't recall-"

"Lehnsherr knows."

Charles twists to look up at Erik's face, and sure enough, he has an expression of dawning comprehension. Still, it catches Charles off-guard when Erik looks down at him and says, "Raven."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Kurt Marko is not a good man. Raven never took to him any more than she did to Cain. They are both the worst sorts of men: selfish, violent brutes. Kurt just uses his mind rather than his fists.

"Darkhölme," he says when he sees her, using her original surname as he always has. His brow furrows as he attempts to figure out what she is doing in his Nazi weapons laboratory. With no answer forthcoming, he looks away from her toward Shaw. "Sebastian, what-"

Raven takes advantage of his distraction, springing forward and planting her fist- and the knife concealed within it- in his solar plexus with all her strength. The breath leaves him in a startled huff, his eyes going wide in the fraction of a second before he crumples to the floor.

"Oh, dear." A hand settles heavily on her shoulder. Breath skitters over her neck as Shaw leans in and says in that soft voice of his, "I should have known. That was very foolish, young lady."

Lifting her chin, Raven draws a fortifying breath. "Maybe it was, but it had to be done. You didn't really think we'd let Nazis get hold of a functioning nuclear weapon, did you?" Shaw's brows inch up his forehead, and Raven can't help but laugh. "You thought you were being secretive? We discovered your plan a long time ago, and soon, this place will be flooded with our men, eager to destroy you."

"I'm afraid that won't be happening," Shaw sneers, his face twisting into a grotesque mask. How did Raven ever find him attractive? "We have your brother, and my dear Erik will be joining him soon. You chose the wrong side." Craning his neck, he shouts something in Spanish, and a moment later, two men with handguns come running into the room. "Take Miss Darkhölme to a cell, would you? Make sure she doesn't escape."

 

**_xx_ **

 

"Very good," Angel tells them. "Raven Darkhölme is one of our finest agents, and since the two of you nearly destroyed my two-year operation getting her close to Kurt Marko- and, more importantly, Sebastian Shaw- you are going to help me get her back safe."

"I- Raven's a what?"

"Secret agent," Erik says helpfully. "A spy. Rather a lot like you but with guns."

"Yes, thank you. But how did she get mixed up with MI6-"

"Her brother is a world-renowned thief," Salvadore interrupts flatly. "So of course you’re in demand.The Americans want you. The Russians want you. We found your sister more obliging- and, frankly, more useful. She has the stomach for wet work."

"Are you implying Raven has _killed_ people-"

"More to the point," Erik interjects, "why do you need us to help you? You must have you own agents."

Salvadore blows out a breath that does nothing to disguise how tightly her fists are clenched. "I do, but the best aren't here yet. I don't want to wait for Raven to get hurt before we go in."

"You're rather friendly with your assets, aren't you?"

"She's more than that."

Erik nods. He does. Charles, on the other hand...

"What the devil is going on?"

"Miss Salvadore is in love with your sister, who didn't really betray us, and now, we are going to go get her. All clear?"

Charles gapes at him, then at Salvadore. "She never- I didn't- Since when?"

The agent’s expression softens. "From the moment we met, so... about four years."

"Oh."

Before things can idle further, Erik clears his throat. "So where is she? You must have some idea. If she showed them my tracker, they will have taken it off."

This time, Angel's grin is smug, almost knowing. "MI6 has developed a little something thanks to all the Russian models our American friends have sent us. Raven's is still active."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Charles bursts in.

"You're in no shape to continue," Erik counters.

"She's my sister! I can't not go after her."

They glare at each other, neither willing to concede the other has a point, until Salvadore waves a hand between them.

"We don't have time for this," she says loudly. "Charles, you can come if you can keep up. If you slow us down, we'll leave you behind. Understood?" Both Erik and Charles nod. "Then let's go."

 

**_xx_ **

 

They must put her in a cell near a vent, because when Raven wakes up, she is alone. With her head to the wall, though, she can hear familiar voices talking.

"I knew she was trouble." Kurt is seething, but his words are strained. That belly-blow may not have killed him yet, but it’s slowing him down. "What the hell was Cain thinking, sending her here?"

"Relax, Mr. Marko." That's Shaw. "Your stepdaughter merely delayed us a few moments. If you could finish what you started now...?"

"Of course, Mr. Shaw. I only have to place a few pieces."

As she listens, Raven struggles upright. When the guards tossed her in here, they weren't careful about it; her head is pounding where it knocked against the cell floor, her stomach rolling at the change in position. Her vision is swimming, fading into black around the edges, but she blinks the world back into focus and turns her attention to the men on the other side.

Through the wall, she hears the distant sound of Kurt muttering orders and tries to focus on that. Power tools whir to life, and the bomb comes together piece by piece.

"Well," Kurt says after a long silence, "that's it. The weapon is ready and waiting for-"

A single gunshot cuts him off.

"Get rid of the body," Shaw orders a moment later, sounding mildly irritated. "It's unsightly."

Raven swallows back a rush of bile. For whatever reason, Shaw didn't kill her. She still has a chance of getting out alive. Angel will come for her. She promised she would, and Angel always keeps her promises. Always.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"There's an island off the coast that technically belongs to the government," Angel explains as they board the helicopter. "But it's an open secret that the Shaws purchased it after the war. It's small, but that works in our favor. There's only one building."

Charles nods but feels his attention waver, his eyes sliding in Erik's direction. He still isn't sure why Erik is so interested in saving Raven. Or why he saved Charles. He should have high-tailed it the moment Raven gave them up and never looked back.

Yet here he is.

Why? What does he see in this? What could possibly keep him here?

No answers reveal themselves. Erik's expression remains neutral, his eyes hooded as he stares out the window. At one point, he reaches up as if to touch his neck, only to stop inches away and drop his hand. Charles watches his expression shift into something bleak and feels a wrench in his gut. Erik is probably wondering what he's doing here, too. But it's too late to back out now.

Angel glances between them, and a knowing look briefly crosses her face. Then it's gone, leaving only grim determination.

"We'll go in hot," she says over the roar of the blades. "Don't give me that look, Essen. We have arms for you both. And if you look below, you'll see the boats carrying your backup."

Charles does look, and there are indeed boats of men speeding through the water. At least, that's what the dark shapes seem to be.

"I hope I'm making the right decision telling you this, but we suspect both Shaws are still on the island."

Erik snaps out of his slouch. "How certain are you?"

"Almost entirely." Angel doesn't back away from the wild look in Erik's eyes; if anything, she seems to lift her chin higher, defiant in the face of the Soviets’ deadliest man. "I need to know you won't blow the rescue mission."

"I won't."

"Essen..."

"I won't," Erik snaps, holding himself painfully straight. "Recovering Raven is not unimportant to me."

That's the closest Angel is going to get, and she must know it. "All right, then,” she says, subsiding. “When we get inside, we split up. Charles, you’ll have your own group. Essen, you'll have yours. I have my own, and none of us- and I do mean none of us, gentlemen- will even attempt to leave them behind."

_MI6 did well with this one,_ Charles thinks, impressed. Then it hits him: Raven did well, too.

The rest of the ride to the island passes in silence. It isn't until they land and Erik hops out in search of guns that Angel puts a hand on Charles' arm.

"I'm sorry if I've been overly familiar," she says quietly, dark eyes searching. "It's just that between reading your file at work and all Raven's stories, I feel like I know you."

Throat closing up, Charles puts his hand over hers. "She probably told you all the embarrassing things and none of the good." Angel bites her lip and makes a seesawing motion with her free hand, and Charles feels a rough bubble of laughter scrape free. "I hope we get to know each other after this."

"We will," she says firmly. Then her expression turns sly. "And maybe Essen, too."

She doesn't elaborate, and Charles doesn't get the chance to ask what gave him away before Erik pokes his head back in the hull and asks if they're coming. He barely waits for them to answer, already turning around and waving for his men to follow him.

Charles hops out after Angel does and quickly finds himself standing in front of his group. They're all dressed in tactical black gear, their expressions identical masks of determination.

"Well, lads," Charles says with all the bravado of a man who has never fired a gun and has found himself suddenly holding one nearly as big as he is, "let's go grab that girl."

They don't actually laugh at him, though the one in front does give him a pitying look, which Charles takes as a sign not to linger.

The devastating silence breaks with the sound of rapid gunfire. It lasts less than a minute, and in the quiet that replaces it, all the little sounds become a clamor.

"Let's move out," Charles orders, and to his relief, the men fall in behind him quickly.

There are three entrances to the compound. Erik took the front and Angel the back, leaving Charles to take the side.

Passing the front on the way is easier than he dared hope. Erik has already gone through- it must have been Erik, given the carnage. Angel strikes him as more of a "tie up and lock up" type of person. The sight that greets them is... not that neat. It explains the amount of gunfire at least.

The guards put up a fight, but they're out-gunned and out-manned. Charles' team quickly pushes deep into the building's endless corridors, winding tunnels built into the mountain below the building's foundation.

They've taken out two patrols and lost a few men when Charles hears the muffled sounds of a fight. Replacing the man he put at the head of the group, he dashes toward the source of the noise. They take a few wrong turns- the scuffling sounding closer, then far away, then closer again- but Charles gets them to what looks like a dungeon in time to see Angel lift Mrs. Shaw up with arms around her waist, bend over backwards, and drop the woman on her back. A loud grunt echoes through the cavern, and for a moment, it's a different darkened room. The person dragging in ragged breaths is him, and he's tied down with no hope of getting free-

"Charles!"

Startling, Charles blinks off the mirage and looks instead into Angel's frowning face.

"Have you seen Er- ah, Essen?" he asks, covering his slip with a different concern.

Angel shakes her head and points to the far wall. "Found someone else, though."

Following her finger, Charles spots a familiar face peering out at him from between thick metal bars.

"Raven!"

He's running to her before he consciously means to, reaching to collect his sister's delicate arms in his before he knows he can. She hugs him as fiercely as the bars permit, and he returns the gesture with equal might.

"You have a lot of explaining to do," he tells him as sternly as he can. Raven only nods. "But let's get you out of here first, yeah?"

"Emma knows where the keys are," Angel offers coldly. "Don't you?"

The woman bares her teeth in a grin that suggests she does know but won't be sharing willingly.

"You do realize I'm a thief," Charles says with a roll of his eyes. He is well acquainted with prison cell locks, and this one is no different to the ones he's had to jimmy in the past. Getting Raven out does require letting go of her, though, which Charles instinctively dislikes, but Angel is quick to step up and take Raven's hand in hers. Free to use both hands, only takes a bit of fiddling with one of the picks Charles always keeps on him to spring the lock and free his sister.

Raven is quick to emerge and throw her arms around Angel, a gesture Angel matches with her own fierce embrace.

Suddenly feeling awkward, Charles scans the room for something to do. A metallic glint at Emma Shaw's neck catches his eye, and as he follows the gold chain to the pendant lying against her chest, his minds rings with familiarity. He only saw the piece briefly, but it was as striking then as it is now. Intricately detailed up close but not ornate enough to catch someone's eye- unless that eye is a curious thief's- Charles would recognize it anywhere.

"Tell me, Emma," Charles asks lightly. "Where did you get such a lovely locket?"

 

**_xx_ **

 

Schmidt is not in the building. Erik checked every hall, every closet. Pulled at every book on every shelf. Rolled the corpse he found in the basement onto its back and examined it for clues. Still nothing.

"He isn't here," Erik reports when he finds Salvadore and Charles standing by the helicopter. Raven is sitting inside with her feet dangling out. Erik nods at her but isn't interested in rolling out the welcome mat. "Where is Schmidt?"

"We think he took a boat," Angel says.

"Coward." Erik feels his hands curl into fists. He is too close not to catch Schmidt this time.

A hand settles lightly on his shoulder, and though Erik instinctively wants to shake it off, he allows the touch.

"We'll get him," Charles says lowly. His grip tightens, and Erik could almost relax into the firm hold. "I promise you, my friend. He will not escape this time."

"Charles isn't wrong," Angel says suddenly. "We just caught sight of him- and the missile."

"And he is still alive?" Erik hisses.

"He's staying close to shore. We can't risk firing on him when he's so close to all those people."

Charles' grip tightens further. "What if we sent a team to take him out?"

"Too dangerous."

"Not for me," Erik counters. "Get me close enough to take him out myself, and I'll do it."

Angel shoots a look at Charles, who feels his expression turn sour as he nods.

"Let's get going."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik, they decide, is going to go in alone. So far as they can tell, it's just Shaw and the henchman at the helm.

Charles doesn't like it, but they don't have any better options.

Still, he doesn't let go of Erik's shoulder until he has to. It's just the two of them on the beach a few feet from the speedboat that will take Erik to Shaw. Erik is arming himself to the teeth, all sorts of straps crisscrossing his legs with holsters for guns and tactical knives and who knows what else.

"It won't bring you peace," Charles cautions as Erik runs one final check over his weaponry.

"Whoever brought peace into it?" Erik asks, pausing mid-tug. "Peace was never an option, Charles. It wasn’t when men like Schmidt held the power, and it is not now."

There isn't much Charles can say to that, and Erik has to get going.

"You'll be careful?"

"I am always careful. I was KGB, remember?"

"Come back alive," Charles orders, rather than return the fierce grin Erik is giving him.

For a moment, Erik raises his brows, a quip visible on his lips before it withers and something softer replaces it.

"Thank you, Charles. For everything. Now go. Be with your sister," he says at last. Then he turns and hops aboard the boat without a backward glance.

Charles watches as the helmsman turns the key, and the boat roars to life and speeds away.

With nothing else to do, he heads back to the helicopter and the women waiting inside.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik stands at the prow and readies himself to leap onto Shaw's ship. He feels light, too light, ready to blow away with the wind. His heart is racing in his chest. His hands are fisted at his sides. He can see the shape of Schmidt’s ship growing ever clearer, and his legs are tense, preparing to propel him toward his quarry.

Was this how David felt?

Did Gideon's fingers tremble?

Were Deborah's thoughts plagued by futile imaginings? Did she see her husband's face as she led her people into battle? Did she feel every wrong done to them and fear that she would shake apart?

The helmsman has them in hot, silent pursuit - rather than flee, Schmidt is still using the Cubans on shore as a shield from MI6's artillery.

Erik feels his face contort into a grim smile. Shaw may be safe from the British, but no one is safe from Erik.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"He hasn't turned around yet, ma'am."

Charles jerks up from his contemplation of the maps. Shaw has been circling a small part of the island the whole time they've been watching.

"Where's Essen?" Angel demands. She, too, must be concerned at the change in pattern.

"Not quite on him yet, ma'am."

"Keep an eye on things, but don't engage without my order."

"Yes, ma'am."

Angel and Charles trade looks. Whatever is about to happen, their position here, out of range of a detonation, can only be to their advantage.

 

**_xx_ **

 

The helmsman pulls up to Schmidt's vessel with admirable smoothness. Erik could almost throw one leg up and straddle the two boats. He doesn't take the risk, though, instead getting a running start, pushing off the slippery rail, and launching himself up onto the bigger boat.

"I wondered when you'd come!"

That voice sends prickles of fear through Erik's gut.

"I'm here now!" he shouts back over the wind.

Schmidt shakes his head. "I knew I saw your hand in this. You've killed many of my friends, little Erik. You'll have to pay for that."

"You killed my mother!" Erik can still smell the blood. "You tried to kill us all!"

"As you are trying to do with us," Schmidt points out, stepping closer. His smile is crooked, as if he, too, sees the false equivalency.

"You're wrong," Erik crows, reaching for the stolen knife in his boot. "Unlike you, I will succeed!"

Then he's rushing forward, ready to shed blood and honor, and Schmidt is settling into a crouch, a perfect target on his forehead.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"They're out of range," an agent reports. "They've moved to a part of the island that isn't as inhabited. If we were to blow it up now-"

"We would minimize the casualties, compared to what would happen if Shaw were to escape," Angel finishes.

The agent nods. "Shaw and the helmsman must be too distracted to try evading a strike."

Rather than dismiss the option as Charles had expected, Angel nods thoughtfully.

"You can't be serious." Charles' fists clench. " Essen is still aboard."

"One life or thousands," Angel replies. "We can't ignore the opportunity to end this now."

"But-"

"You're a thief, not a commander," comes the snappish reply. "You're here as a courtesy, Charles. Nothing more."

Hands shaking, Charles nods. Deep in his gut, though, he knows what Angel is considering would be a grave mistake.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Schmidt, unlike his compatriots, has not gotten complacent. Nor is he useless without a gun and dogs. He goes for Erik's elbow, knocks his shoulder, slaps his wrist. They slash and parry as they move across the deck, neither able to get enough of an edge to stop the other.

"I made you," Schmidt hisses as they fall into a grapple. The knife fell out of Erik's hand at some point and slid out of reach, leaving them to wrestle barehanded.

"You did," Erik agrees, just in time to get the edge and sweep Schmidt's feet out from under him. The man hits the deck squarely on his back and lets out a wet gasp. Erik doesn't take his eyes away as he backs up to where the knife is lying. It fits his palm well, but not as if it were made for him. "You did make me, and that was your mistake, because I am going to kill you."

"I disagree." Sitting up quickly, Schmidt pulls out a gun. "I'm afraid it is you who will die today, my boy."

 

**_xx_ **

 

"Schmidt has a gun! Either we do this now, or we risk them getting back to a more inhabited area!"

Angel's eyes flick between Charles and the agent.

Charles feels no such confusion. He is nothing but calm as he unholsters the gun at his back and aims it at the microphone. "Sorry, Agent Salvadore," he says, certain he will feel apologetic when things over, "but I can't let you kill him."

"Charles, come on-"

"He can do it."

"This isn't about Essen!"

Charles shrugs. "It is for me, I'm afraid."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik doesn't stop, doesn't think. He just tightens his grip on the hilt and prepares to swing.

"Good try, Erik." Schmidt smiles placatingly. "Just not good enough."

Erik sprints toward Shaw, knife slick with spray in his hands, and watches through the red mist of rage as Schmidt pulls the trigger.

 

**_xx_ **

 

_"Essen is down!"_ comes a hysterical voice. _"I repeat: Essen is down!"_

"Not for good, he isn't," Charles snaps. "Not for good."

Angel's eyes are soft and kind as she says, "Charles."

"He'll get up! He has to."

"We can't risk that not being true."

"It will be!"

"You can't know that." Angel holds out a hand. "Give me the gun, Charles."

"I- He _will_ get up. He has to."

"He won't."

Charles bites his lip.

 

**_xx_ **

 

The bullet punches through Erik, and he falters, hanging suspended in the air for a moment before crashing to the deck.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"He's gone, Charles," Angel soothes. "Essen is gone. But we can still save those people. We can save them all. You just have to give me the gun, all right?"

Charles falters.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Shaw gets to his feet with sigh. "You did well to have made it this far," he tells the body placatingly. He crosses to the man's side and raises the gun, aiming this time for the skull. "But the son cannot surpass the father."

 

**_xx_ **

 

"No," Charles insists, firming up his grip on the gun. "Essen can handle this. I know he can."

"Charles," Raven says, soft and pleading.

He ignores her. "You had faith in us this far. Trust us to see this finished."

Angel draws a breath, her dark eyes searching, then lets it out slowly. "All right. Let's let Essen work his magic."

 

**_xx_ **

 

He has to judge the timing perfectly. Fingers tightening around the grip, he waits for the speech to end, then throws himself forward, blade arcing ahead of him.  It lands and slashes through flesh.

Schmidt lets out a howl.

Erik merely readjusts his grasp and brings the knife up one last time before he drives it into Schmidt's heart.

Schmidt falls backward, eyes open in surprise. His hands twitch toward the blade sticking out of his heart.

"You're wrong," Erik tells him. "You are not my father. You tried to make me into a weapon, but I am more than that- I am more than you."

Reaching down, Erik yanks the blade free of Schmidt's frozen chest.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Raven is the one who spots the ship changing course.

"Angel," she murmurs. "It's turning."

"Get me someone on that ship on the radio," Angel orders, and moments later, Erik's voice crackles over the line.

"Mission completed."


	8. Chapter 8

After Erik gets Shaw's ship to move away from the island, everything begins to blur together. Charles lowers the gun, Erik flops over the railing onto the beach, Angel starts shouting commands, Raven hands Charles a blanket. Somehow he winds up sharing it with Erik, the two of them huddled close as first a boat then a car takes them away from the water towards who knows where- which turns out to be the street with their hotel. By unspoken agreement, Charles and Erik head back to Erik's room, where they collapse on the sofa together. They're both battered, with exhaustion tugging at the strings of consciousness, and it's all Charles can think to do to pat Erik's chest and mumble, "Glad you didn't die, old chap," before he sinks gratefully into sleep.

 

**_xx_ **

 

When he wakes up, Erik is lying on his back. Tucked under his arm is a still-sleeping Charles. It takes Erik a long, confusing moment to recall what happened in the lead up to him falling asleep on a sofa with Charles. He remembers fighting and killing Schmidt, but it takes time for him to remember sharing a blanket with Charles, the ride from the small island back to Cuba, the journey to Havana and their hotel. He isn't sure when he stripped down to his undershirt and trousers, but when he checks, Charles is dressed much the same, which calms his nerves.

Carefully extricating himself from the sofa, Erik heads to the bathroom. He feels at once cracked and grimy, and the prospect of wearing his blood-soaked clothes for a moment longer makes his stomach turn. It's a pleasure just to strip them off. Erik stands naked in the cool bathroom air for a long moment, eyes closed, just feeling.

Schmidt is dead. Erik lost the locket, but he avenged his mother's death. That is the important thing, he reminds himself as he touches the bare base of his throat. His family's blood is no longer crying out for justice.

He finally did it. He gave them peace.

Charles hasn't made any noise yet, so Erik turns the taps for a hot bath. As much as he longs for the quick process of a shower, he doesn't trust his legs. It's as if his body knows he is without purpose now; every limb hangs from his body limply. And he aches. He aches like he hasn't ached in years. It's disconcerting. Erik doesn't like it.

A hotel like this always has nice things, and Erik makes use of the sample size bubble bath, absently swirling the hot water until all he can see are bubbles. Then he steps in and lowers himself down, bending and twisting his legs so everything but his face is submerged. He lingers there, breathing in the sweet-scented steam, floating almost above himself, until the door crashes open and a tousseled Charles Xavier falls through.

Too warm and sluggish to respond at first, Erik simply blinks up at Charles from the bubbles.

Charles, for his part, seems equally startled. "Erik?" he squeaks.

"Yes?"

Charles doesn't reply at first. He seems mesmerized by the bath. Erik at first chalks it up to some strange result of American repression, but as he shifts up, baring his upper body to the cold air, Charles' eyes dart immediately to Erik's chest and lingers there. There isn't anything unusual there, though. Erik has a few scars from his early days, but they are faded and hardly worth a second glance. He finds himself looking down at himself anyway, in case he's overlooked something, but he doesn't find anything on him that any other man wouldn't have. And he knows he isn't missing anything. Hair, two nipples, all his ribs, it's all there. So what could have Charles so captivated?

"Can I help you?" Erik prompts when Charles fails to speak up.

Blushing a vicious red, Charles clears his throat. "I thought you'd left," he admits.

"So you came charging into bathroom like angry bull?" Erik watches in amusement as Charles flushes an even deeper red. "I did not leave, as you can see. What was so important?"

"Nothing."

"Charles."

"There really isn't anything." Charles scratches at his head. "I just got concerned."

"Well, I am not going anywhere without clothes, so you can stop being concerned."

"I'm always concerned with you," Charles mutters.

"Thank you. May I finish washing now- or would you like to watch?"

Charles' eyes go wide, and a second later, he whips around and marches out with a loud, "I'm going!"

Erik sighs as the door closes, but he can't help feeling as if some of the lead in his gut has dissipated. There was something almost sweet about Charles barging in. How long has it been since Erik had someone who cared where he was?

Shaking his head, Erik hauls himself upright and turns on the shower.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Raven and Angel sit side by side on the plane as they leave Cuba. Raven hates flying as a passenger, especially when the plane shakes as it taxis down the strip, so it's only natural that Angel takes her hand and holds it through takeoff.

"Do you think they know?" Raven asks quietly when the plane levels off.

"Essen must," Angel says after a moment.

"How can you be sure?"

"He turned the ship around." At Raven's frown, Angel shrugs. "The Essen I read about would have taken the ship as his own and run off before he left it in our hands. But he didn't. If I had to guess, I'd say it's because doing so would make seeing your brother again too dangerous for both of them."

Raven hums thoughtfully. "Could he really change that quickly?"

"Change? He doesn't have to change. That man is selfish- and with good reason. He doesn't want to lose anyone else. This plays right into that."

"Is Charles really safe with him?"

"Are any of us ever safe?" Angel shrugs. "Essen won't hurt him, if that's what you're asking. A man like that just wants peace."

"That's possible?"

"No, but he'll try, and they'll find a way to do it. Same as us."

That makes Raven smile one of her sweet smiles, and the butterflies in Angel's stomach flap like they do every time she looks at Raven.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Charles is sitting on the sofa, head in his hands, when Erik emerges from the bathroom. Glancing up, Charles takes in the lean lines of Erik's stomach, the water-dark trail of hair down his chest, and feels his mouth go dry. He's seen Erik in various states of undress before, but there's something different about it now.

He really was worried when he burst in on Erik- who had been taking a bubble bath of all things. He'd looked so soft like that, none of his usual cutting humor or grim determination on his features. Just a sort of peace, followed by a slow wakefulness almost like a sleepy puppy. He would never have dared think such a thought before yesterday, but now...

Erik isn't a man running with hell hounds now. He's got Schmidt's blood on his hands. Yesterday, he had been shaking when he sat that little bit too close in the car. Charles hadn't known what to do with it at the time, and now, he suspects it was the last Erik's fear shaking itself out of him. His bloody task is complete.

Maybe that's why he seems different. The need to hurry, to move, to fight, is gone. Erik is just a man now.

A man with nothing to do.

Erik returns not long after he entered the bedroom, dressed now in tailored trousers and a fitted turtleneck.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Charles says.

Erik pauses, shakes his head. "Is fine."

Charles considers pushing the subject but decides against it. "You look better," he says instead.

Erik, for a wonder, pads over to the sofa and folds himself onto the free cushion. "Do I?" he asks faintly.

Charles nods. "What will you do now? Have you given it any thought?"

Erik shakes his head. "I never thought I would outlive Schmidt." He huffs a laugh. "I suppose I ought to have prepared myself for prison."

"You aren't going to prison. Angel wouldn't have let you leave if you were," Charles points out.

"I suppose not."

They lapse into uncomfortable silence after that, Erik contemplating who knows what and Charles contemplating his shoes.

Theirs was an alliance of convenience. Charles knew this from the beginning. Yet somewhere along the line, he got attached to Erik anyway. It will hurt to see him go.

"Oh!"

Erik's head snaps up.

"I have something for you." Ignoring the suspicious cast of Erik's features, Charles reaches into his pocket and pulls out his reclaimed prize. "I recognized it right away," Charles explains as he hands over the necklace.

Erik accepts it with a look of total devastation. "You got it back," he says softly.

"It was serendipity more than any real work on my part, but yes, your mother's necklace is yours again. I'm sorry you lost it in the first place."

Eyes whipping back and forth between Charles and the necklace, Erik wavers for a moment, something undefinable flitting across his face. Then he's scooting closer, one hand rising to cup Charles' cheek.

The kiss is soft, uncertain. The polar opposite of Erik.

_Oh._

Charles doesn't let Erik pull away- raises his own hand and fits it to the back of Erik's head, holding him in place as Charles tilts his head and deepens the kiss.

Erik lets out a little noise and presses closer. His free hand comes to rest on Charles' thigh, the other still clasped firmly around Charles' cheek.

Pulling back a little- he has to breathe- Charles lets out a shaky breath. When he thinks to pull back a little more and get a better look, he finds himself looking at a fluffy haired, kiss-mussed man.

Raising a finger, Charles traces the contour of Erik's upper lip, watches in amazement as Erik's eyes flutter shut and the tip of his tongue flicks out to taste.

Charles is back on him in a flash, and all uncertainty disappears when Erik returns the kiss. He turns the next one hard, kissing Charles as if he thinks there won't be another one, and Charles has to take Erik's head in both hands and haul him in for a third and a fourth and a fifth kiss.

"Tell me you aren't going to leave," he pants when he can bear to move away.

Erik swallows. "I do not want to, but what can I do? I cannot just become man who works in office after all this."

"Then don't," Charles says, a wild but perfect idea sparking. "Help me get back what the Nazis stole. You're good at tracking them, and with our combined knowledge-"

"We will be twice as effective," Erik finishes. His eyes are wide and almost black, his mouth swollen and shiny. "I accept."

Charles beams at him. "Good. Now come back here and kiss me again."

Erik does, more than once.


End file.
